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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24216538">Cruel Intentions</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally'>Slow_Burn_Sally</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Jonathan Strange &amp; Mr Norrell (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anger Sex, Childermass is an alright guy, Choking, Evil Boys Doing Bad Things To Each Other, Frottage, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Lascelles is a dirt bag, M/M, Messy Angry Kissing, Mildly Dubious Consent, Modern AU, Or Perhaps Actually Dubious Consent? It's Hard To Tell With These Boys Because They Are A Mess, Please Don't Judge Me I Had To Do It, Secret Shameful Ship, This Ship Is Trash And I Love It So Much, breath play, depictions of violence, i need a shower after writing this, nothing too graphic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:42:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,346</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24216538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>I love love love this horrible, secret, shameful trash ship of Childermass/Lascelles. I didn't want to ship them, but I saw like two gifs and read a couple of astoundingly hot fics and well, here we are. </p><p>It's a modern AU with Lascelles as a gossip columnist with a snarky T.V show. He's wealthy and spoiled and probably a total narcissist. Childermass is a Jack of all trades who gets hired to work as the Lascelles' family gardener, and well... they say mean things and rub up against each other.</p><p>This is my very first JSAMN fic, and it was very fun to write. I made it a bit soft at the end because I'm a terrible softy, so sorry. </p><p> </p><p>I hope you enjoy :)</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Childermass/Henry Lascelles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Supernova Smut from Various Fandoms</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I love love love this horrible, secret, shameful trash ship of Childermass/Lascelles. I didn't want to ship them, but I saw like two gifs and read a couple of astoundingly hot fics and well, here we are. </p><p>It's a modern AU with Lascelles as a gossip columnist with a snarky T.V show. He's wealthy and spoiled and probably a total narcissist. Childermass is a Jack of all trades who gets hired to work as the Lascelles' family gardener, and well... they say mean things and rub up against each other.</p><p>This is my very first JSAMN fic, and it was very fun to write. I made it a bit soft at the end because I'm a terrible softy, so sorry. </p><p> </p><p>I hope you enjoy :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Henry Lascelles first met John Childermass in a pub. It was a particularly unsavory pub, and Lascelles had only gone because his companion, a girl everyone agreed was the next rising star of reality television, had insisted on it. She was meeting up with her flavor of the month boyfriend, some pretty bloke with a carefully messy hairstyle, and had begged Lascelles to accompany her. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles had agreed to go pub hopping with her, merely for the chance to appear in her selfies and live videos that would undoubtedly get posted to her insanely popular twitter feed. This in turn would give Henry Lascelles the social exposure he needed as much as he needed the oxygen he breathed. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles was the sort of person who was famous for being famous. He’d positioned himself in just the right places, near just the right people, looking just the right amount of sexy and disaffected. He had money. His family was wealthy, and so he could get into the posh clubs and celebrity parties. His father was a big time tech tycoon who’d gotten into the computer game early on, and his mother had been a famous model, known for gadding about with the likes of Sophia Loren and Farrah Fawcett back in the seventies. They’d been England’s most fascinating power couple for a while and Lascelles lost track of the number of magazine covers that had been plastered with photos of his parents: she smiling and looking sexy in a heroin chique type of way, Lascelles’ father, staring boldly into the camera’s lens with a confident smirk.</p><p> </p><p>Lascelles had always wanted to be just like his parents. Adored. Admired. Looked up to. He was discomfited to realize however, at some point in his thirtieth year of life, that he’d been reduced to creating a well received Youtube gossip show with millions of followers, and to have accomplished nothing more than being the friend of several bored, wealthy celebrities, who dragged him along when they went to events. Lascelles had fame, but it often felt empty, made up of catty opinions on who was wearing what and meaningless sound bites. He’d endured endless evenings spent being carefully condescending to those lower than he was and carefully complimentary to those higher up on the social food chain. Sometimes it felt exhausting, and quite frankly like a lot of hard work.</p><p> </p><p>His one and only consistent friend… more a ‘frenemy’ if one were being completely honest, was a man named Christopher Drawlight, whose entire personality was just an amalgam of false compliments and sycophantic praise. Lascelles tolerated Drawlight because they had a history. They’d gone to secondary school together, had lived through the mockery and the humiliation of being bullied for being gay. This was before being gay was actually seen as something of a social status thing, especially among wealthy jet setters at (certain) Hollywood parties, and merely got one’s head shoved in the toilets of the boy’s lavatory, or worse.</p><p> </p><p>Drawlight and Lascelles were cut from a similar cloth, being that they both swam heavily in the waters of popular, wealthy society, and Drawlight had acted as a shoulder for Lascelles to cry on, had picked him up when he’d gotten too drunk to even hail a cab, had been there when no one else knew who Henry Lascelles even was. On one, not-particularly-memorable occasion, they’d even shared a bed, but the lukewarm sex that resulted convinced them both equally that they were better off as friends. Yet still, Drawlight was fun to drink with. He could be a catty bitch in a very entertaining way, and he seemed devoted to Henry Lascelles for some incomprehensible reason and so Lascelles allowed him to hang around. He also did Drawlight the favor of pulling him up with him, out of obscurity and into the limelight of being friend to the illustrious Mr. Henry Lascelles.</p><p> </p><p>Somehow, through pure, driven tenacity, Lascelles managed to carve out a name for himself among the elite ranks of the rich and famous. He charmed actresses, seduced talent agents, threatened and weedled and arse-kissed his way into the upper echelons of society by using his parent’s names and his own skill at flattery and manipulation, which was formidable. </p><p> </p><p>His gossip show eventually made the leap from Youtube to a weekly television spot in which he opined snarkily on the secret lives of US and European celebrities to the backdrop of sexy dance music and flashy graphics. </p><p> </p><p>And this was how Henry Lascelles found himself in a shabby pub in a shabby part of London, trying not to actually touch anyone or anything while he pretended to sip at his martini in a smudged glass, hoping that the alcohol would kill any lingering germs that were clinging to the rim. How had he ended up here? Surrounded by working class blokes and broke hipsters, the companion of a capricious young woman who was currently snogging her boy band boyfriend up against the sticky bar while Lascelles tried not to make eye contact with anyone. </p><p> </p><p>He was jostled out of his thoughts when one of the pub’s patrons bumped against his shoulder in passing, causing the contents of his martini glass to slosh over his wrist and splash against his brand new, extremely expensive, silk button down shirt. “<em> Excuse me</em>!” He yelled, holding his now dripping hand away from his body and snapping his head around, preparing to rip into the bastard who’d caused this unfortunate event to occur with a few choice words. He was greeted by a pair of flashing dark eyes in a pale face, half curtained by long, rippling chestnut brown hair that was pulled back rather unsuccessfully into a messy ponytail.</p><p> </p><p><em> Jesus Christ</em>, Henry Lascelles was taken aback momentarily, his glare faltering and his scornful retort dying on his lips as he gazed into the face of a man so roguishly attractive that he momentarily forgot how to speak. He didn’t have time to fully absorb the clothing the man wore, but his brain faintly registered a (no name probably) faded black t-shirt and some sort of dark brown motorcycle jacket before he began to recover enough to feel indignant again. The man’s mouth was opening in a surprised ‘O’, belatedly realizing that he’d caused Lascelles to spill his drink all over himself. </p><p> </p><p>“Watch where you’re going!” Lascelles managed to snap, regaining a bit of his composure and pulling himself up to his full height, giving the offending stranger his hautiest look he could manage. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, sorry mate,” mumbled Mr. Sexy Hair with a sheepish lift of his shoulders and self conscious grimace. “Didn’t see you there.” His Yorkshire accent came through thick and strong and Lascelles rolled his eyes in response.</p><p> </p><p>He was minutely mollified by the stranger’s contrite manner, but still, it wasn’t quite contrite <em> enough </em>. Not nearly enough to smooth over Lascelles’ ruffled feathers and extinguish the sharp flash of irritation he felt from being humiliated and drenched in cheap vermouth. And was that a smirk he could see teasing at the corners of the man’s mouth??</p><p> </p><p> “Have you any idea how much this shirt cost me?” Lascelles growled between gritted teeth. “Probably a month’s salary at whatever <em> commonplace, lowly </em>job you’ve managed to barely hold onto with your grubby fingers.” He knew he was laying it on a bit thick, but the whole evening had been such a massively uncomfortable disappointment. Being humiliated by some twat in a leather jacket who happened to look unsettlingly like a cross between James Dean and every dark, smoldering lead in every classic romance novel ever written was proving to be a bit much for Henry Lascelles’ ego. The man was straight. He had to be straight, and the fact that Lascelles found him instantly, insanely attractive made him feel all the more vulnerable and cantankerous as a result. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, well pardon <em> me </em> your majesty,” the dark haired man said back, eyes tightening at the corners, mouth pulling down into a sneer that did absolutely nothing to lessen his oozing sex appeal one little bit. “I didn’t know I was in the presence of <em> royalty </em>.” And as he turned away, he added, in a mumbled tone that was definitely intended to be heard by Lascelles. “Bloody spoiled brats, always comin in here like they own the place.”</p><p> </p><p>Lascelles spluttered in indignation, “You! You- do you have any idea who you’re speaking to?!” Against his better judgment, he reached out and grabbed the man by his leather clad elbow, intending to spin him around to face Lascelles again. He knew he should have just let the man walk away, that breaching the boundary of touch was not a good idea in a place like this. Who knew what type of person he was dealing with. The bloke could have a knife up his sleeve, or he could decide that a little late evening gay bashing was just the thing to brighten his mood. It was a stupid mistake, but Henry Lascelles <em> hated </em> being blown off. He <em> hated </em> being made to feel insignificant and he <em> hated </em> being made a fool of. And now all three of these things had happened in rapid succession, and he was seeing red. </p><p> </p><p>The man allowed himself to be turned around, shooting daggers at Lascelles’ enraged face with his sharp, dark eyes. “Take your hand off me,” he said, his voice low and threatening. </p><p> </p><p>“Or what? You’ll strike me? I happen to be a world famous television celebrity! I’ll have your ugly face plastered across the internet before you can blink!”</p><p> </p><p>Surprisingly, and to his relief, the man didn’t move to strike Lascelles. He didn’t even attempt to wrench his arm out of Lascelles’ grasp. He simply stood there, letting his dark eyes roam over Lascelles’ face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and then seemed to stop himself abruptly and redirect what he had planned to say. “Look. I’m sorry. I said as much when it happened. What do you want from me? Money? You look like you have plenty of that already.” Those dark eyes flicked swiftly down Lascelles’s body with an appraising gleam before settling again on his face. “So, if it’s an apology you’re after, then take it. I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful moving forward. Can we call it a night? I’ve got other places I need to be.” He tugged gently at the arm in Lascelles’ grasp and Lascelles released him without a struggle. </p><p> </p><p>Now, he felt the burn of embarrassment climbing up onto his cheeks and found he had to look away from the man’s sideways smirk and piercing glare. He’d gone overboard. He’d completely lost his composure, and despite how much he loathed losing control to anger, he had to acknowledge that he did it far too often for his own good. He was unsure if it was too late to regain the upper hand, but thought it best to try anyway. “Fine. Whatever,” he said with a carefree shrug, tearing his eyes away from the man’s face and turning his back in a show of complete disinterest.</p><p> </p><p>He felt the vacuum caused by the infuriating stranger’s absence as the man walked away. Felt that empty air fill itself up with other pub goers, who immediately closed in and took up the space behind him, chatting and drinking and shrieking with laughter. The next time Lascalles turned around, perhaps five seconds later, the man was gone. He felt a strange stab of disappointment. As if he’d wanted something else from the interaction. Maybe he’d wanted to humiliate the infuriating man further, paying him back for his transgression. Or maybe he simply wanted to see those dark, sparkling eyes again. He shivered and tried to banish the image of the man’s sneer from his mind, with only limited success. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Childremass ground his teeth in irritated frustration as he marched away from the pub. After the night he’d had, the last thing he’d needed was a run in with some spoiled brat, out slumming for kicks in Childermass’ favorite pub. The sight of the man’s large, light brown eyes and startlingly red hair, and the way it contrasted with his pale skin had at first sparked a twinge of interest in Childermass. The incensed stranger had been quite attractive, in an anemic, high born sort of way. His slender body and hauty, high cheek-boned face, his long, delicate fingers, drenched in spilled alcohol had drawn Childermass’ eye at first. But then, the insufferable twat had opened his mouth further and dashed Childermass’ hopes of having some company for the evening into a thousand pieces. </p><p> </p><p>Their encounter wasn’t exactly the easiest jumping off point from which to test the waters of mutual attraction, and on top of that, the man was obviously repulsed by Childermass. Before tonight, John Childermass hadn’t thought a human being could put that much disgusted derision into one facial expression. And Childermass had seen a lot of disgusted looks. From his time as a sullen, lanky teenager, causing mischief with his street rat friends, up through school and into his adult life, the people closest to him tended to spend a lot of time exasperated or offended. He knew this was due to his dark and sarcastic nature. How he could toss out a cutting remark like loosing an arrow from a bow, and that those remarks often hit to the heart of matters, making people angry, making them lash out. It was a defense mechanism really, from growing up poor and scrappy on the streets of a small, Yorkshire town. His parents had been wholly uninterested in providing anything for him but a meal a day (and that amid the screams and shouts of semi-constant fighting between them). He was an only child and preferred running about with his friends, causing mischief and nicking sweets (and later, packs of fags) from the local shops and generally being a nuisance. </p><p> </p><p>Luckily, unlike several of his friends from his hometown, he didn’t end up going to jail or become an alcoholic, nor did he end up married with a passel of brats to care for. He escaped instead to the library to read, devouring books on English history, the Crusades, The Black Plague, The court of Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Eventually, he delved deep into old stories of English magic and the devious nature of faerie. It was a way to leave his uninspired life behind and disappear into the pages of a book. </p><p> </p><p>He’d worked hard from the time he’d left school, first being a busboy, then as a server in local restaurants, and then as a bartender for several years, and made a good living at it. Women seemed to like him very much for his ‘bad boy’ look, with his long hair and five o’clock shadow and sly smile. Men liked him too, and he’d long known that he was bisexual, and so he took several of them (both men and women) up on their offers for sex. For a while, there wasn’t a week that passed that he didn’t take a different woman home from the bar. Blokes were less common, for the pure fact that he didn’t often bartend in gay establishments, but when he did happen to take a man home for the night, the experience was just as enjoyable. </p><p> </p><p>He’d traveled south eventually to London, looking for more job opportunities. He worked as a jack of all trades, tending bar here, doing some grounds maintenance there, driving a delivery truck, even selling a bit of weed to make ends meet. John Childermass wasn’t above virtually any type of work as long as it paid well. And he’d developed a wide range of skills, including the ability to do some basic auto repairs and basic plumbing. He learned out of necessity and because he loved learning, loved expanding his skillset. The more things he knew how to do, the more likely it was to stay employed and fed. </p><p> </p><p>He’d ended up in the pub tonight simply to say hello to a friend who was tending bar and have a quick drink before heading home. For a brief moment, he’d thought his run in with the intriguing, pale bloke whose drink he’d spilled would have warmed up into something more, and the idea had excited him. The man had about him something of the old faerie tales Childermass had read in his youth. A pale, delicate, otherworldly sort of look. But, as the moments had ticked by, and the man’s outrage hadn’t cooled into pleasantness, when it hadn’t flared into genuine interest either, he’d abandoned the idea. The man had only grown angrier, his brown eyes had only grown sharper, so flinty at the end, that Childermass felt he might be cut by them. Whoever the incensed stranger had been, he was used to getting his way. This much was clear. Most blokes would tell him to ‘fuck off’ and go about their day, or accept his apology. <em> This </em>man however had done neither, looking as if he couldn’t believe that Childermass had the absolute nerve to accidentally bump into a person in a crowded pub. </p><p> </p><p><em> Rich bastard</em>, Childermass thought with a sneer. He was sick and tired of these people showing up in his part of the city, going to his pubs and restaurants because it was now fashionable to hang about in working class pubs instead of posh establishments. New money boys like Mr. Martini were a dime a dozen, and they always looked down their noses at people like Childermass, with the dirt under his unmanicured nails and the scruff of a two day beard shadowing his jaw. He dressed simply and spoke simply and these posh types tended to ignore him completely, when they weren’t sneering at his beat up leather jacket and his messy hair. Some wealthy women found his rough good looks attractive, but after a night or two, when they saw the shabby flat where he lived and when he didn’t offer them an expensive dinner and wouldn’t buy them a long succession of drinks, they disappeared, often after calling him some choice names in the process when he slipped and inevitably said some insensitive thing or another. </p><p> </p><p>He’d had a few longer term lovers, but being the cantankerous, emotionally hidden man he was, he found he wasn’t suited to a happily ever after situation. He hated domesticity. Didn’t want someone to come home to every night, and didn’t fancy being nagged at or being expected to do the extensive list of things most people seemed to want from him in longer term situations. He wasn’t amenable to meeting anyone’s parents, and was utter shite at buying gifts or handing out compliments. He preferred casual relationships with people like himself. People who didn’t mind having a shag now and then, before heading home to their own flat. </p><p> </p><p>His longest job, the one he still held, was in being the personal assistant and errand boy to Gilbert Norrell. Norrell was an extremely introverted and eccentric man who dealt in the procurement and refurbishment of old books. He relied on Childermass’ tenacity and willingness to do pretty much anything for money, by sending him on errands to find and purchase books from dealers and historians all over the city of London. Norrell was also a Yorkshire man, who’d moved south to be closer to greater opportunities to increase his collection of old and rare volumes. He and Childermass had developed an understanding and a delicate sort of awkward friendship built on familiarity. He paid well and relied heavily on Childermass’ help to set up deals and at times to scare prospective buyers or sometimes even news reporters away from the man’s door.</p><p> </p><p>He paid well, and relied on Childermass quite a bit, but this still didn’t keep Childermass from seeking additional work elsewhere. This is how he’d ended up also taking a job recently as a part time groundskeeper for a wealthy older couple in Knightsbridge. He’d answered the advert in the paper, had gone for an interview and was hired on the spot. It seemed they needed someone to clip the hedges, mow the grass, plant flowers around the grounds and in their small but impressive garden and generally look after the outside of their very large and very posh house. It seemed like an easy enough job, and he would start tomorrow.</p><p> </p><p>He got home at half past two in the morning and quickly brushed his teeth and pulled on an old pair of sleep pants before crawling into bed. Despite his best intentions though, he kept seeing the image of the pale, red haired man from the bar drifting through his mind’s eye. The man’s flinty eyes and cold mouth just would not let him rest, and he ended up stroking himself off just to calm his body enough to allow sleep to take him. Why the obvious anger and derision of a total stranger would have him worked up enough to masturbate was a mystery to him, but, it wasn’t the first time he’d been attracted to a deeply unpleasant person, so who was he to second guess it? </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Henry Lascelles had hailed a cab and stumbled into his parent’s guest house at four in the morning. After his run-in with the pillock in the motorcycle jacket at the pub, he’d decided to sooth his anger by getting absolutely pissed. His friend and her date had disappeared an hour or so after the incident, leaving Lascelles to chat with a pretty young man, whose boyfriend was home for the evening. He’d ended up drunkenly snogging the lad in a corner of the pub before extricating himself to stumble out to the street to hail a cab after realizing that the man hadn’t intended on inviting Lascelles home with him, and had apparently only been after fodder with which to make his partner jealous. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles was between residences at the moment. He’d been living in a nice, two bedroom flat in Chelsea, when the landlord had suddenly been caught dealing a large amount of cocaine from the premises and he’d been forced to find other arrangements. Instead of hunting for a new place to stay, he’d opted to crash at his parents’ house for a few weeks. They had lots of unused rooms, and even a fully appointed guest quarters, and his mother was always after him to visit. And that’s how he woke up Monday morning, fully dressed, with a splitting headache and a mouth that tasted as if a small animal had died inside of it in the guest room of his parents’ house. </p><p> </p><p>He stumbled out of bed and into the loo, turning on the shower to a blistering heat and letting the water burn away the sharp edge of his hangover and wash away the cigarette smoke and alcohol fumes of the night before. His stomach was growling and he realized belatedly that he hadn’t eaten since probably six o’clock the prior evening. He dressed quickly, in a t-shirt and black jeans, his hair a damp mess, and went in search of some food. </p><p><br/>His parents were home, having breakfast in their spacious dining room at the front of the house. He decided joining them was the quickest way to get himself fed, even if it meant dealing with their probable nagging. </p><p> </p><p>“Henry!” his mother exclaimed, putting down the piece of toast and jam she’d been about to bite into and rising with a smile, her willowy frame clothed in a well tailored blouse and a long skirt. “So nice to see you. We haven’t had breakfast together for quite some time.”</p><p> </p><p>His father looked up and nodded briefly before looking down again at his paper. He’d never been what you could call warm toward Henry. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello mother,” Lascelles leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek before depositing himself in one of the chairs around the table and reaching for a piece of toast. “I’m famished. Hope you don’t mind me staying for a bit while I look for a new place.” </p><p> </p><p>“Of course not darling. You stay as long as you want. It’s a shame what happened with your last flat. But I’m sure you’ll find something soon.” She pushed a plate of eggs toward him with a smile and he gratefully piled some onto his plate before reaching for the teapot. As he did so, he happened to glance out his parents' large front windows and saw a dark figure standing on the lawn that looked strangely familiar. </p><p> </p><p>“Who’s that?” he asked, a glimmer of a memory sparking in the back of his mind at the sight of the man in a dark t-shirt and black breton cap, his hair falling over his shoulder in a short plait as he bent to lift a heavy bag of potting soil. His face was turned away from them and so Lascelles couldn’t quite make out his features.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that’s our new groundskeeper and maintenance person. John...Childs?”</p><p> </p><p>“Childermass,” corrected his father without looking up. “John Childermass. We hired him to help with putting in the new flower beds and the installation of that bloody monstrosity of an arbor lattice round back. He seemed knowledgeable and hard working. Nice enough chap.”</p><p> </p><p>“He looks familiar,” Lascelles said around a mouthful of eggs. Almost as if the man out in the garden had heard him, he turned toward the window, affording Lascelles a good look at his face and suddenly, Lascelles was finding it hard to breath. It was <em> him</em>! The man from last night who’d knocked into him! The prat who’d sneered at him. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh no,” he moaned, feeling his face heat up, knowing he must have gone beet red. “I know that man. Ran into him last night at a pub and he spilled a drink all over me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that so,” his mother said, clearly not impressed by Lascelles’ little tale. “Well, I should hope he apologized.”</p><p> </p><p>“He did no such thing!” Lascelles snapped, then realized that he was mistaken. “Well, in fact he <em> did </em> apologize, but it was most insincere. He’s a horrid person.”</p><p> </p><p>“Come now Henry. We can’t take character references from you based on an accident in a pub. Calm yourself and have some more eggs.” His father’s tone was long suffering. Lascelles scowled at him, but his father took no notice. </p><p> </p><p>“Fine. But he’ll probably nick the good silver,” he grumbled as he shoved a piece of toast and jam into his mouth and chewed angrily while glaring at the dark figure of John Childermass out on the front lawn. </p><p> </p><p>Of all the rotten luck. Why did it have to be <em> this </em> one arsehole, this one horrid man whom his parents had insisted upon hiring? And yet... there was a not-so-small part of Henry Lascelles that was excited to see the obnoxious stranger again. Yes, he found the man incredibly irritating, but it couldn’t be ignored that he also felt a shameful flush of arousal at the sight of him. Lascelles wasn’t blind. His parents’ new gardener was very good looking, in a rough and tumble sort of way. Not at all Lascelles’ usual type. He tended to go for posh blokes with expensive hair cuts who went on holiday in Greece or the south of France. Not scruffy, filthy malcontents like John Childermass. But regardless of his scruffyness and his ridiculous long hair, there was no denying that he had about him a dark sort of sex appeal. </p><p> </p><p>He watched as the man hefted the heavy bag of soil onto his shoulder as if it weighed next to nothing, and sauntered his way out of sight, and tried to banish thoughts of what those strong hands of Childermass’ might do when put on Lascelles’ body. </p><p> </p><p>“What are your plans for the day darling?” his mother was asking. “We need to go to Alisha’s for that dreadful party tonight, and I’d love it if you could come along. You’re the only person I know who can deal with her constant chatter.” </p><p> </p><p>‘Dealing’ with Alicia Devonshire usually involved Lascelles peppering the hostess with backhanded compliments until she gave up trying to talk their ears off and went in search of some other form of entertainment. The woman was an emotional vampire, but her parties were legendary, and usually involved some sort of charity event that ended up getting publicized. Lascelles supposed he could do his parents a favor by attending with them, and said as much. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh good!” his mother clapped in delight. “Well, she added, dabbing at her mouth with a white linen napkin. “I’m off to the gym. I have that tai chi class to get to. Your father’s got a meeting downtown and so you’ll have the run of the place until tonight. Don’t be too mean to our new man darling. He’s probably not all that bad.”</p><p> </p><p>Lascelles obediently tipped his face up for a kiss on the cheek as she slid past him and away. Rather than sit with his father, who probably wouldn’t be much company, he discovered that he suddenly had a strong desire to inspect the back garden. And the new gardener. </p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Childermass was kneeling on the grass, his concentration entirely focused on the planting of a bed of azalea bushes along the slate walkway of the Lascelles’ garden. He was just pressing his hands into the dark soil around the base of one bunch of the brightly colored pink flowers when a shadow fell across him. He looked up, expecting to see Mr. or Mrs. Lascelles, or perhaps their housekeeper, a stout woman with a friendly smile, but instead, he found himself peering into the pale face of an attractive man in what looked to be his early thirties. It was at first hard to see him clearly, as he was standing in such a way as to just block the sun with his head, giving him the appearance of having a golden halo that obscured his face in partial darkness. </p><p> </p><p>“I told my parents they should sack you,” the man said with a cold sneer, and in a flash, Childermass recognized him. He was the spoiled brat from last night. The man who’s haughty voice and dismissive anger had haunted Childermass’ thoughts for far too long after he’d last seen him. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it’s you,” he said, feeling a sudden, strange mix of thrill and disappointment stirring in his belly as he squinted up at the red haired man standing over him. </p><p> </p><p>“Try not to sound too overjoyed,” the man said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Lucky for you, my parents never listen to me, so you can probably stay on for a while,” he added, stepping to the side, so that Childermass was momentarily blinded by the bright shaft of sunlight that lanced in at his face when the other man moved. He cursed softly, raising a hand to shade his eyes and got to his feet. He thought that the red haired man would move away, walk back into the house, but he remained, standing with hands on his hips, glaring at Childermass with brown eyes filled to the brim with contempt. </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe that out of all the places you could have thought of to apply to, you decided to work for <em> my </em> parents.” he said, as if expecting Childermass to apologize for taking the job. </p><p> </p><p>“They’re nice people,” he said instead, feeling a small spark of triumph as the other man’s scowl deepened. </p><p> </p><p>“They’re not actually. They’re vapid and self involved,” the man snapped back, looking Childermass up and down with a slow, appraising sweep of his eyes, as if Childermass were a horse he was contemplating buying. </p><p> </p><p>“That sort of thing runs in the family does it?” Childermass drawled back. He knew he shouldn’t start trouble, but there was just something about this man’s condescending tone, his utter lack of social decency that made Childermass’s rough side come out. </p><p> </p><p>“You- you-” the man spluttered in indignation, and though Childermass felt a twinge of apprehension over so overtly insulting the son of his brand new employers, he also felt a satisfying flush of triumph over his barb finding its mark so easily. “How <em> dare you</em>?!” the man stammered, going red in the face in a way that should not have been so appealing to Childermass. </p><p> </p><p>He decided though, that rather than try his luck hurling insults at the man all morning, he could at the very least offer an olive branch. “Look,” he said. “We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Lets start over? My name’s John Childermass. And you are?”He waited, hand outstretched for the other man to take it, but he apparently had other ideas. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not about to touch your hand when you’ve been rooting around in dirt all day!” The pale, copper haired man reeled back slightly, a look of disgust on his face. </p><p> </p><p>“So, you’re not even going to tell me your name? You really want to be like this?” Childermass tried using a little well placed social shaming to get the man to calm down and open up. He couldn’t keep working here if his employer’s son loathed him. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll do no such thing,” the man snapped. “In fact I wouldn’t tell you my name if you paid me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Henry!” Mrs. Lascelles’ voice echoed out over the back garden from where she was peering around a crack in the door from the kitchens. “Don’t stand out there too long in this bright sunlight. You know how easily you burn!”</p><p> </p><p>Childermass smiled, letting his hand drop to his side, being as the other man clearly had no intention to take it. “Nice to meet you...<em> Henry </em>.” He kept his voice pleasant, but couldn’t help injecting it with just a touch of barely suppressed laughter. </p><p> </p><p>Henry Lascelles flinched and then scowled. Whirling, he stalked stiffly away from Childermass and back toward the house. “I sincerely hope I never see you again!” he yelled over his shoulder, before slamming his way back through the kitchen door. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass shrugged to himself. It appeared that he and Henry Lascelles were not destined to be friends. Oh well. The man was an insufferable twat either way. But still, he’d held out hope that this second meeting might have gone better than their first. Unfortunately, their dynamic seemed to be one that was locked in combative dislike. It was a shame really, because Childermass couldn’t stop thinking about what it might be like to silence the stream of angry words from the obnoxious Mr. Lascelles’ mouth with a kiss. </p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles was confused. And angry. His anger was easier to deal with, and so he let himself live in it for a while, as he stomped back to the guest quarters. The sight of John Childermass, in that ridiculous cap, with that ridiculous plait in his hair, kneeling in the garden with his hands full of potting soil had done things to his insides that he wasn’t at all comfortable with. That, paired with the flash of anger at the man’s complete and total impertinence, had him completely turned around.</p><p> </p><p>He went to his laptop and flipped it open, intending to rant on twitter about how <em> some people </em> had no concept of common decency, and then console himself when several thousands of his followers predictably tweeted back at him asking him what he was talking about. But, halfway through a carefully crafted tweet, one designed to pique the interest of all the gossip hungry people who watched his twitter feed like hawks, he realized that he didn’t want to try and publically humiliate Childermass. No one cared who the man was. No one would even think to care until he, Henry Lascelles mentioned him. It felt suddenly beneath him to spend time and energy complaining about some shabby maintenance man he’d bumped into in a crowded pub. </p><p> </p><p>And yet, he couldn’t let go of the anger that welled up inside him whenever he thought of John Childermass. Anger, and something more. Something hot and dark and shameful, that coiled in his lower belly at the site of the man’s sparkling, dark eyes and condescending smirk. Perhaps it was because Childermass was most likely straight that Lascelles found him so irritating. He shouldn’t be attracted to straight men who had no interest in him. Shouldn’t be attracted to straight men who went out of their way to <em> insult him </em>. It made him feel vulnerable and angry that he’d started daydreaming just a little bit about what the man’s lips might taste like. About the noises he might make when he climaxed. </p><p> </p><p>Shaking his head to clear its fevered imaginings of his parent’s new groundskeeper, he snapped his laptop shut again and began pacing back and forth in the guest bedroom. His skin itched all over with the urge to run back out into the garden and yell at John Childermass. To threaten to have him sacked for real this time. Another part of him wanted to leave the property immediately and to not come back until the man left his post and moved on. No good could come of his continued association with Childermass, and yet… he couldn’t seem to get the man’s face out of his mind. </p><p> </p><p>He stopped pacing long enough to pull his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and call Drawlight. The man picked up on the second ring, his loud exclamation of “Henry dearest!” and the obvious need he had for Lascelles’ approval was an effective temporary balm to his strange mix of lust and rage.<br/><br/></p><p>“What are you doing right now?” he asked. “Care to come over and help me poke fun of our new gardener?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ohhhh, that sounds delightfully nasty. I can be there in half an hour.”</p><p> </p><p>Good old Drawlight. He was always up for some mischief. Henry Lascelles decided that instead of wasting time being angry at John Childermass, he’d simply show the man just how much he didn’t care by having afternoon drinks out in the garden with his good friend Christopher Drawlight, while they both made snarky, underhanded comments about the man in stage whispers. This was an activity guaranteed to make him feel better about his ridiculous lustful imaginings. He had to even the score somehow, or else he’d never regain his dignity. </p><p> </p><p>He asked the cook to prepare a few tea sandwiches and pitcher of lemonade, which Lascelles fully intended to spike with vodka and pointedly <em> not </em> offer to share with Childermass. It was supposed to be a very warm day, and the man would probably be thirsty, and Lascelles was looking forward to enjoying the company of his friend in full view of their surly gardener. </p><p> </p><p>Drawlight arrived ten minutes earlier than was promised, looking flushed and out of breath. It often irritated Lascelles that Drawlight was so painfully eager to please. But it was a two sided coin. One couldn’t have a devoted companion who hung on one’s every word and not have him be a bit of a sycophant. Also, it couldn’t be ignored that Drawlight excelled admirably at being a catty bitch, and that is exactly what Lascelles wanted from him today. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh my! How very lovely your parents’ house is Henry!” The man was exclaiming loudly, looking around with his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. Henry doubted that he was half as impressed as he let on. Everything was a performance where Christopher Drawlight was involved.</p><p> </p><p>“I forgot you hadn’t been here since the renovations,” Lascelles watched passively as Drawlight traipsed about, oohing and ahhing over moldings and archways and the new set of bookshelves that swept up over the dining room doorway,</p><p> </p><p>“Yes! They did quite a lovely job. So,” the man switched gears suddenly and his eyes went all mischievous. “Tell me about this gardener yes? Is he some frightfully dirty, fat old man? Did he ruin your mother’s lovely rose garden? What’s your problem with him?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s..well…” Lascelles was suddenly at a loss for words for why he disliked Childermass so intensely. “He bumped into me last night down at that horrid pub. Spilled my drink all down my front and then was cheeky about it, the bastard,” he began. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh! Do tell Henry. Did you give him a piece of your mind? You can be so delightfully <em> cruel </em> when you want to be.” </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles smiled at Drawlight’s flattery. “I did indeed. And then imagine my surprise when I woke up here today to discover that my parents had <em> hired him as their new gardener</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh how dreadful!” Drawlight feigned shock by bringing a plump hand up to his mouth and widening his eyes further. “You mean, he’s out there,” he jerked his head at the back garden, “right now...digging in the dirt?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” replied Lascelles. “And I think it best if we have ourselves a lovely little tea party with some drinks and enjoy ourselves a bit at his expense. That is…” he paused, raising his eyebrows at Drawlight, “if you’d be up for that sort of thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh Henry! Of course I would. You know me! I can never quite turn down an opportunity to support my dearest friends. Especially in defense against this terribly rude scoundrel.” Drawlight’s grin accompanying this statement was a dark one. Lascelles felt a twinge of excitement at the idea of humiliating John Childermass just a bit for having the audacity to work for his parents. </p><p> </p><p>And so it was that he and Drawlight ended up seated at a small, wrought iron table in the shade, chatting and giggling and showing one another pictures and posts on their mobile phones over lemonade and vodka cocktails while Childermass slaved away in the hot sun.</p><p> </p><p>At first Drawlight had been hard to direct to the task at hand as he’d been far too busy whispering to Lascelles about how extremely sexy this Childermass person was. </p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t tell me the man was <em> gorgeous</em>,” he hissed, with a waggle of his waxed eyebrows in Lascelles’ direction. “Just look at him. Mmmmm,” he hummed lasciviously. “If you don’t want him, I’d like a try.”</p><p> </p><p>“I most certainly do not! I find him utterly repulsive,” Lascelles lied smoothly while lifting his lemonade and vodka to his mouth to take a sip. He looked over the rim of his sunglasses at where Childermass was currently bending over to fetch a digging trowel, affording both men a glimpse at his firm backside encased snugly in faded jeans. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, well then, you wouldn’t mind if I made a pass at him?” Drawlight’s tone was careful, testing the waters, seeing if Lascelles truly meant it that he hated the sight of Childermass. </p><p> </p><p>“By all means,” Lascelles replied. “Though I doubt you’ll get that far. He’s as straight as an arrow.”<br/><br/></p><p>“Pshhst!” Drawlight made a disbelieving noise. “With hair like that? Doubtful.” he was leering at Childermass and licking his lips like some sort of hungry wolf looking at a flock of nearby chickens. </p><p> </p><p>“The man doesn’t have <em> gay hair </em> you moron!” Snapped Lascelles, using this current subject of conversation to fully appraise the soft brown plait that fell to the middle of Childermass’ upper back. He wondered idly what it would feel like if he undid that plait and ran his hands through the resulting ripples and shuddered as he felt a bolt of electricity shoot through him at the thought.</p><p> </p><p>“No, he doesn’t,” said Christopher Drawlight, his voice lowering into a salacious drawl. “But he <em> does </em> have <em> bisexual </em> hair.”</p><p> </p><p>Lascelles turned to look at his companion in surprise, his mouth falling open. “No!” he gasped. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m never wrong when it comes to these things Henry dear. Mark my words, that man likes cock.” Drawlight had the gall to look satisfied with himself for this random and completely unfounded presumption. Lascelles would have challenged him more stringently on such a baseless claim, but it couldn’t be ignored that the idea was highly appealing. Lascelles doubted that Drawlight was correct, but… he <em> wanted </em> the man to be correct. </p><p> </p><p>“Whatever you say,” he replied. “I can’t see how it’s possible to tell such a thing solely by looking at a man’s hair but…”</p><p> </p><p>“How many straight men do you know that plait <em> their own hair </em>? Drawlight asked, and Lascelles had to admit that he had a point. ”And it isn’t just the hair,” Drawlight continued, still eyeing Childermass up and down hungrily while the other man walked over to the gardening shed to fetch something, ignoring the two men sitting in the shade as if they didn’t exist. Lascelles briefly lost himself in staring at the gentle sway of Childermass’ hips. “It’s a lot of things,” Drawlight said, as if he were the world’s biggest authority on bisexual men. “The way he walks. All slinky like that. The way he stands. And his mouth, just look at it. He’s got blowjob lips.”</p><p> </p><p>Lascelles shifted uncomfortably in his seat as vivid images of Childermass on his knees with Lascelles’ cock in his mouth bloomed unbidden in his mind’s eye. “I still say you can’t know just by looking at him,” he said gruffly, in order to hide what that particular concept was doing to him internally. </p><p> </p><p>“Believe me Henry darling. I’ve slept with enough curious bi men to know. I had quite the reputation for it at university.” </p><p> </p><p>“I'm sure you did,” Lascelles took another long sip of his vodka and lemonade and they both watched, enthralled while Childermass sauntered back from the shed with a pair of gardening gloves and plant mister in his hands. When he was sure Childermass was within earshot, Lascelles turned to Drawlight “It's a real shame that my parents will hire just about <em> anyone </em> these days.”</p><p> </p><p>Drawlight picked up on his game and responded with a sly smile “Oh I <em> know </em> ! <em> Such a shame</em>. They used to <em> care </em> who they put on the payroll, but it seems now they’ve sunk to hiring a <em> homeless</em>.” He winked conspiratorially at Lascelles, who grinned back, pleased that Drawlight had caught on so quickly. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass paused in the act of pulling on the gardening gloves and shot them both a dark look, which only spurred Lascelles onward. “I certainly hope the new gardner’s had his shots.” he whispered loudly to his companion. “He looks like he might have mange.” Drawlight snorted and this caused Lascelles (already a bit tipsy on his very strong cocktail,) to burst into a fit of derisive giggles. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass had finished pulling on his gloves and was continuing to ignore them as he crouched down and stabbed at the earth (a bit more forcefully than was strictly necessary, Lascelles was pleased to observe) in preparation to put down another azalea bush. Was it Lascelles’ imagination, or had the man’s cheeks gone pink and flushed with more than the hot sunshine.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know Henry. He doesn’t look all that clean. I certainly hope he doesn’t track anything nasty in when he goes to use the loo.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry, we make all the outdoor help piss in the bushes. It really makes the plants grow quite nicely,” Lascelles could barely get the sentence out with how hard he was laughing. </p><p> </p><p>Both he and Drawlight fell silent though when Childermass rose to his feet and strode purposefully toward them, trowel in his hand and a stormy look on his face beneath the brim of his hat. Lascelles, feeling a thrill of fear bore through his chest, stood up in preparation to flee. In the pub last night, when he’d grabbed Childermass by the arm, he’d crossed a boundary and was unsure what lay on the other side, was unsure what Childermass was capable of. He’d just crossed another one, and he had no clue what the outcome could be. As the man walked swiftly closer, he inwardly regretted that the vodka he’d consumed had made his tongue so loose. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass strode directly up to Lascelles, until he was right in his face. His eyes were flashing and his chest was rising and falling sharply with the inhale and exhale of his breath. He looked intently into Lascelles’ eyes, his mouth pressed into a thin colorless line and the muscles in his jaw working beneath his two day’s growth of facial hair. They were toe to toe and John Childermass’ face was inches from Lascelles’. At this proximity, Lascelles could smell the not unpleasant tang of Childermass’s fresh sweat, mixing with his deodorant and the smell of the potting soil that coated his gloved hands. </p><p> </p><p>“I couldn’t quite hear what you and your little friend were saying <em> Henry </em> .” He spat out Lascelles first name with a derogatory twist to his tone. “Perhaps, if you’d like to tell me something, you’d have the decency to <em> say it to my face</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Childermass looked dark and angry and <em> dangerous </em> all of a sudden, and Lascelles belatedly regretted his decision to mock the man in this forward fashion. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. The man’s fierce dark eyes seemed to pierce right through him, down to the small, vulnerable part of him that he kept hidden from everyone with the consistent use of snark and sarcasm and casual insults. John Childermass’ eyes cut through all of the surface protections Lascelles had carefully constructed and burned him down to his core.</p><p> </p><p>“Well?” Childermass asked, his voice low and velvety with implied threat. “Now’s your chance <em> Henry</em>. What is it you’d like me to hear?”</p><p> </p><p>Lascelles knew he should say something, come back with some snide retort to help him save face, but he was trapped helplessly by the magnetic quality of Childermass’s glare. He’d retained just enough wherewithal to feel relieved that he was still wearing his sunglasses. They provided a much needed shield to hide his eyes, eyes that at this point were wide and full of shock. Next to him, Drawlight, <em> that coward </em>, had fallen completely still and completely silent. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass stayed there, the tip of his nose mere centimeters from brushing against Lascelles’, his eyes full of baleful intensity for a few heartbeats more before he seemed to relax a bit and stepped away. Lascelles quietly let out a very long exhale and realized he’d been holding his breath. </p><p> </p><p>“Just what I thought,” Childermass smirked as he retreated. He shot one icy look in Drawlight’s direction before walking indolently over to the table where the man still sat, face pale, looking up at Childermass as if he feared the standing man was about to attack him. Childermass however, only reached down and grabbed Lascelles’ glass, which was still three quarters full of lemonade and vodka, and downed it in a few long gulps before putting the now empty glass back on the table and walking away. “Thank you,” he said over his shoulder without an ounce of actual, gratitude to his tone. “I was quite thirsty out in this hot sun.”</p><p> </p><p>And just like that, it was over. Childermass went back to his task and Lascelles slowly stepped back over to his chair and sat, feeling adrenaline rush through him and burn itself out in the form of his mouth going as dry as a desert and a tremble in his hands that he hid by lacing his fingers together in his lap. He and Drawlight didn’t look at one another for an uncomfortable minute, until Lascelles decided he’d had enough and suggested stiffly that they head inside. Drawlight quickly agreed and they grabbed what remained of their pitcher and the two glasses and made their way back into Lascelles’ parents’ kitchen. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh my good god!” Drawlight exclaimed in a harsh whisper as soon as the door shut behind them. He was flicking nervous glances out of the kitchen window to make sure Childermass couldn’t hear them. “Can you believe the nerve of that brute?! You’re going to speak to your parents about having him sacked won’t you? He can’t be allowed to speak to you that way, he-” </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles raised a hand, and cut him off quickly. “I need you to leave,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Drawlight’s face was the picture of confusion, but Lascelles forged on without giving the other man’s affronted feelings a care. “I need you to leave and I need to be alone,” he said, this time more forcefully. </p><p> </p><p>“Alright. If that’s what you want Henry. I’d be happy to-”</p><p> </p><p>“Just shut up and get out,” Lascelles was in no mood for one of Drawlight’s extended, fawning goodbyes. “I’ll call you later,” he added, just to soften the blow a little. </p><p> </p><p>Drawlight nodded, looking put out and turned to leave. </p><p> </p><p>“Drawlight?” Lascelles called after him before he could reach the front door, and the man turned back and looked at Lascelles expectantly. “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this,” Lascelles said. “If I find out you’ve run your mouth about my personal business, I’ll <em> crucify you</em>. Don’t think I won’t”</p><p> </p><p>He watched as the truth of his statement sank in and Drawlight nodded swiftly before leaving in a rush, the door slamming shut behind him. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles went straight way to his room, his head spinning with too many thoughts, too many feelings. He was enraged, and he was confused, and worst of all, if his stiff cock pressing against the confines of his pants and trousers was any indication, he was also very aroused. His breath was coming shallow, even though he’d only walked the short way from the kitchen to the door of the guest quarters, and his body felt all flushed and fevery from the confrontation with Childermass. He shut and locked the guest room door behind him, then flung himself down on the bed on his back, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing a mile a minute. </p><p> </p><p><em> Childermass</em>. John Childermass. He was a <em> terror</em>, an absolute beast of a man. He was classless and mannerless and uneducated and..and..and... he was so bloody <em> sexy </em> that it was doing Lascelles’ head in. He clenched the bedsheets in both hands to keep from immediately unzipping his jeans and getting a hand on his aching cock, and instead clenched his jaw, slammed his eyes shut and took a deep, shuddering breath. </p><p> </p><p>Visions of Childermass’ fierce glare swam out at him from the darkness behind his closed eyes and he shook his head back and forth on his pillow to clear it. It was no use. His mind kept dredging up images of the man’s broad chest and strong arms and how the hat he wore shadowed his eyes and made his soft sensual mouth stand out all the more for it. He’d only known Childermass for what amounted to a single day, and already he was torn up with the urge to touch him. He <em> wanted </em> John Childermass, naked and writhing beneath him, begging him for release. He wanted to slap that pretty face of his and make those eyes spark with lust and anger. He wanted... <em> he wanted </em>…</p><p> </p><p>He finally lost the battle against his body and rushed to open his trousers. Dipping a hand into his pants, he took his aching cock into his palm. The touch of his own hand against the hot, tortured flesh of his stiff prick made him gasp. He hadn’t realized just how much that confrontation in the garden had gotten him worked up until he began to stroke himself and felt the immediate glimmer of an impending orgasm, already sparking temptingly on the horizon. He imagined being back in the garden, how things might have gone differently if Drawlight had not been there. He imagined pulling Childermass towards him and into a messy kiss, of pressing the man down onto his knees, <em> where he belonged </em>, and feeding his cock into that smug, sly mouth, making the man take it all until the tip of him pushed against the base of Childermass’s throat. </p><p> </p><p>He imagined the way Childermass’ face would look from above, from the vantage point of having the man kneeling beneath him. How those eyes would look, glaring back up at him in anger, then losing focus as pleasure surged through him, his eyes rolling back, sliding closed. He could just see those eyes change, from rage to lust, and he pictured how Childemass would look with cheeks hollowed and lips stretched around the base of Lascelles’ cock. </p><p> </p><p>It only took Lascelles a few more strokes before his climax rushed up and consumed him, hitting him like a punch in the gut with the force of it. He gasped as hot semen spilled over his fist and the waves of pleasure continued clenching and radiating outward for a few more torturously delicious seconds. Eventually, he drifted back down from the high of his orgasm and found himself, alone, his shirt and pants a mess with quickly cooling ejaculate after getting himself off to a man he was fairly certain he actively hated. </p><p> </p><p>He rolled out of bed with a groan and went to go shower, making a fervent promise to himself just then, to find a new flat as soon as possible. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Childermass had made a mistake. He’d drank a very tall glass of what he’d thought was full of lemonade, but in reality it had been at least fifty percent vodka. He’d downed the drink to make a point, and so when he’d first realized that it had alcohol in it, it was too late to stop. Otherwise, he’d only have taken one small sip, and that wasn’t intimidating, nor was it particularly impressive. And so he’d had to gulp down what was the equivalent of four or five shots of vodka and a splash of fruit juice all in one go. </p><p> </p><p>He’d managed to walk back to the azalea bushes and appear to be working for the two minutes it took Lascelles and his friend to leave, but three minutes after <em> that</em>, Childermass was very drunk. It’s not that he couldn’t hold his alcohol. He had a long and lustrous history of getting pissed and walking home from the pub with nary a wobble in his step, but he was now drunk <em> at work </em>, and at a job where his employer’s frustratingly attractive, infuriatingly obnoxious son could be watching him from the windows, waiting for an opportunity to catch him making a mistake.</p><p> </p><p>He chided himself at this point that he’d <em> already </em> made a rather large mistake by confronting Lascelles so aggressively just now, but he’d been unable to stop himself, and so would have to deal with the consequences. Hearing the two of them, Lascelles and his simpering, disingenuous friend mocking him, laughing at him, brought him back to primary school when the other boys mocked him for being shabbily dressed, or when he didn’t have the money to buy sweets. He’d snapped and done something stupid, had pushed himself into Lascelles’ space and growled at him like some sort of animal. </p><p> </p><p>It <em> had </em> felt good though. There was no ignoring that fact. To see the man’s face (what was visible of it around the pair of shades he had on) contort in fear. To watch him tremble, to watch his mouth drop open in shock… to render him speechless. Lascelles must have thought Childermass meant to strike him, and for a few fleeting, hot headed moments, Childermass thought he might have. But, disconcertingly, the moment their bodies drew near to one another, the rage he felt had melted away somewhat, and he’d caught the scent of Lascelles posh cologne, the scent of his skin, the smell of his fear-sweat. He had felt the warmth radiating from the slender man’s body at that close range, and it had flipped a switch that even now, Childermass’ vodka soaked brain was struggling to flip back to the off position, without finding much luck. He didn’t know what drove Lascelles to be such an unmitigated arse, didn’t know who had hurt the man, or what trauma lay in his past to make him a soulless twat of such epic proportions, but something (or many somethings) must have transpired for the man to behave the way he did all the time. Like the lord of the manor. Like he was better than everyone he saw, so cocky and dismissive and cruel. </p><p> </p><p>Strangely, where that behavior would normally leave Childermass cold, Lascelles’ haughtiness and condescension, combined with his pale skin and red hair and long slender arms and legs, simply made Childermass want to grab him and <em>force him to</em> <em>behave</em>. He’d never felt this sort of pull before. The urge to grab the man by the hair and crash their mouths together. The urge to push him down onto a bed and pin him there so that Childermass could use him how he saw fit. Childermass shook his head to clear it of what promised to be a vivid and detailed sexual fantasy. <em>Now was not the time.</em> He had to finish planting this bed of azaleas and clean up before he could conceivably head home. Thoughts of debauching Henry Lascelles would have to wait. </p><p> </p><p>An hour or so later, he was covered with sweat and dirt and the garden looked presentable, and he’d even managed to burn off most of the effects of the vodka with the effort of his work. He returned the gloves, trowel, bags of soil and wheelbarrow to the garden shed and locked it up, putting the key in its place under a false rock near the door to the shed and headed around the side of the house. He had no intention of actually walking through the Lascelles family home in order to get back to the street. And in fact, just like Lascelles and his friend had implied, might have tracked soil all over the place if he had. </p><p> </p><p>Just the thought of the two of them, sitting in the shade with their drinks, laughing at him while he worked in the sun, had him gritting his teeth in anger all over again. But, instead of lingering on the thoughts, he quickly made his way back to his car, a beat up twenty year old compact that looked like an eye sore next to the sleek, modern sedans parked in the Lascelles’ drive. </p><p> </p><p>He headed home and immediately ran a hot shower to wash off the dirt and sweat of the day before pulling on some tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt and falling into bed. It was early, barely half past seven, but it had been a long day, and the combination of the day's frustrations and the alcohol he’d consumed had him drifting off to sleep within minutes. His last thought before he went under was the memory of Lascelles fearful face, only inches from his own. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few days went by without incident. Lascelles attended that dreadful party with his parents the same night that he and Drawlight had mocked Childermass out in the garden. It was a dull affair, and Lascelles had barely found the energy to make his usual quips and observations that always had people laughing and falling all over themselves to curry his favor. All of it had seemed rather boring. He didn’t want to fully acknowledge to himself that after having John Childermass, up in his face with dark eyes flashing, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> had started to feel sort of dull by comparison. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure why the man had such a strong effect on him, but he suspected it was because Childermass represented everything Lascelles was not. He was plain spoken, direct, at home in his own skin. Childermass wouldn’t bow and scrape when Lascelles entered a room, and he wouldn’t stand to be derided the way Drawlight would. He was his own man, he owed nothing to Lascelles, and he refused to be affected by Lascelles’ manipulations. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or, at least not in the ways that Lascelles had grown accustomed to from a lifetime of being a social superpower. There was no doubt that Henry Lascelles had </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> sort of effect on John Childermass. Otherwise the man wouldn’t have been so enraged by Lascelles behavior. He only wished that the effect he had on the other man was a similar one to the way Childermass’ presence affected Lascelles. He hoped Drawlight’s rather droll observation that the man was bisexual based on his hairstyle was correct. Lascelles hated lusting after straight men. It was bad for his ego, and worse, it didn’t result in Lascelles getting the sex that he wanted. It was a monumental waste of time. And oh how Henry Lascelles </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> John Childermass. He wanted the other man so badly he could feel it in the cells of his skin, could taste it in the air he breathed whenever Childermass was near. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’d largely avoided one another over the course of the past three days. Lascelles thought this was for the best as he wasn’t sure how strong a hold he had over this animalistic urge to grab the man and press up against him every other minute. If Childermass discovered the truth, that Lascelles was aching to shag him, then Childermass would have the upper hand, and he did not look the forgiving sort. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so when Lascelles saw Childermass pull up onto the drive with a new bag of fertilizer or saw him out on the lawn, in a succession of faded t-shirts and shabby jeans, his hair pulled back into a messy bun, he turned and walked the other way. He was sure the other man would be relieved to see less of him. It was obvious that Childermass loathed Lascelles. Even if Lascelles was finding it harder and harder to completely loathe Childermass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was, as it turned out, difficult to fully hate someone when you spent a good deal of your free time imagining what their skin would taste like or what noises they’d make if you put your mouth onto it. Or perhaps, it wasn’t that Lascelles’ feelings for Childermass had softened, more that he hadn’t spoken to the man all week, and so Childermass hadn’t had the opportunity to rub him the wrong way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the meantime, Lascelles had been half heartedly looking for a new flat, being that his only alternative was to continue staying with his parents, who’d insisted on hiring the only gardener and maintenance man in the entire country of England that Lascelles wanted to shag the daylights out of. He had to admit to himself however that he was taking his sweet time with the search. He knew his parents (at least his mother) adored having him around, and seeing Childermass, sweaty and covered in dirt, on his knees in the back garden every day wasn’t making his desire to move out all that urgent at the moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He must have been distracted however, for upon hanging up the phone with his producer, after going over some notes on the next episode of his gossip show, he’d rounded the corner and there was Childermass, standing just inside the kitchen, wiping his filthy shoes on the matt and drinking a glass of ice water that had clearly been given to him by the cook. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lascelles almost stopped in his tracks, and indeed, he faltered a bit, but recovered quickly and went to the refrigerator under the guise of finding something to drink himself. He wasn’t hungry or thirsty, but he had to find some reason to stay in the kitchen. He saw Childermass tense upon seeing him and took a deep breath to steady himself while he perused the interior of the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of water and shut the fridge door, twisting it open and taking a gulp in order to buy himself some time before having to say anything to the other man. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He should have turned around and walked out, but he didn’t. He simply couldn’t make his feet walk away from the dark eyed man currently staring at him over the rim of his water glass. “And how are you liking it? Working here?” he asked, then flinched internally at how pleasant and vulnerable the question sounded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Childermass seemed to regard him suspiciously for a moment, but he lowered the glass and wiped a tanned forearm across his mouth. “It’s fine,” he said simply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Planning on standing on the mat for good are you?” Lascelles asked with an incredulous lift of his brows. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> actually come in and have a seat if you want to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what you implied the other day, sir,” Childermass’ voice was low and careful, and the addition of the word ‘sir’, spoken with just a hint of irony was not lost on Lascelles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, I was rather drunk the other day,” Lascelles admitted, watching the other man in flicks of his eyes so as to avoid staring. “The furniture in the kitchen is easily cleaned with a spray bottle and a rag. You can sit where you please. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If </span>
  </em>
  <span>you want to, that is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Childermass looked surprised for a moment (and why shouldn’t he?) but swiftly recovered his sullen, unreadable veneer, and sauntered over to a chair, pulling it out and sitting in it before taking another long drink of water from his glass. Lascelles struggled not to pay too much attention to the way the ice cubes sat against his lips when he drank.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a hot day,” Childermass said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” replied Lascelles awkwardly, wondering for the tenth time in the past five minutes why he hadn’t turned to leave or simply given up and tried insulting the man yet. “It is. It’s supposed to get even hotter,” he said, pointlessly. It pained him to be this dull and mundane, talking about the weather, but he was at a complete loss of where he stood in this situation. “You’d do well to hydrate so you don’t pass out,” he added.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If his words were amusing or unpleasant to Childermass, the man gave no sign of it. He only nodded and lifted the glass in Lascelles’ direction, as if reminding him that Childermass was indeed drinking water. Lascelles nodded, then, having no idea what to do next, he turned to leave. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Childermass’s voice was soft, hesitant. The sound of it made Lascelles’s skin break out in goose pimples. “I’m sorry,” Childermass said. “About the other day. It wasn’t my place.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lascelles turned back to him, unsure if he’d heard the man correctly, but far too uncomfortable to ask him to repeat himself. “No,” he said, letting a little bit of his usual haughtiness leak back into his tone, “it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> your place.” He saw Childermass’s eyes go flinty at Lascelles’ apparent refusal to accept his apology, and hurried to add, “but it wasn’t my place either. So...that’s fine then.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>There</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’d acknowledged his own fault in the situation, and in a way that allowed him to save face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that what passes as gracefully accepting an apology where you come from?” Childermass asked, with just a hint of derision to his voice, and Lascelles felt his face flush with heat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He strode closer to Childermass, stopping short when he realized that he was getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>too close</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Just what is your problem?” he hissed, glaring into Childermass’ smug face. Why did the man </span>
  <em>
    <span>get to him</span>
  </em>
  <span> this way? They’d been actually starting to build something, a bridge over which they might stop snapping at one another, and now the prat had gone and started mocking him again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>My problem</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Childermass gritted back at him, slowly rising to a standing position again and placing the glass down on the counter. “And I suppose the fact that you’re a</span>
  <em>
    <span> complete twat </span>
  </em>
  <span>to me every time you see me has somehow been lost on you?” He raised his eyebrows and stared Lascelles down with those coal dark eyes and Lascelles was suddenly finding it hard to breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-I went out of my way to try and be civil just now!” Lascelles was shouting a bit at this point, and he knew his face must be flushed a bright pink color as it always did when he was angry or aroused. And of course, now he was both in equal measure. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“</span><em><span>Make sure to drink some water and don’t worry about dirtying up the furniture?</span></em> <em><span>That’s</span></em><span> your idea of being </span><em><span>civil</span></em><span>?” Childermass was also getting quite flushed at this point, though it was harder to tell to what extent, what with how tan he’d gotten from working in the sun. Lascelles absently noticed that a few shorter strands of dark hair were plastered to his brow with sweat. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Against his better judgement, Lascelles stepped even closer so that there was only half a foot’s distance between them. “Apparently, you’re so incapable of having a civil, </span>
  <em>
    <span>human</span>
  </em>
  <span> social interaction that when someone attempts to be kind to you, you take it like a slap in the face.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d be far more likely to </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to have a civil interaction with you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sir</span>
  </em>
  <span>, if you could string two minutes together without insulting me,” Childermass said through gritted teeth. “But you can’t seem to help but act like a spoiled child whenever you see me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lascelles gasped in shocked anger and felt his heart begin to race at the man’s impertinence. “You,” he said, jabbing a finger in the air in front of Childermass’ face, “are an </span>
  <em>
    <span>employee</span>
  </em>
  <span>. My family </span>
  <em>
    <span>pays</span>
  </em>
  <span> you to work here. You’d think that would be enough of an incentive to treat me with at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>one ounce</span>
  </em>
  <span> of respect.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Childermass seemed not to know how to respond to that last jibe. He stood there, breathing hard, eyes dark and foreboding, dirty hand clenched into a fist where it rested between them on the counter. Lascelles didn’t say anything further either. He stared at Childermass, his eyes flicking from Childermass’s fierce glare to his grim mouth and back, feeling his body heating up and his head spin with what the sight of the other man, flushed and angry, was doing to his insides. The silence between them stretched with neither moving or speaking for a few heart pounding seconds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lascelles knew he must look a sight, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, his eyes wide as he glared at Childermass. He wondered if the man knew the effect he had on Lascelles, who was so aroused that he was having trouble thinking straight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Childermass let the air out of his lungs in a long, shuddering breath as their eyes met again and held. Lascelles had just a split second to see something hot and furtive move inside the other man’s gaze, before he saw a determined look break across Childermass’ face and the man lurched forward and grabbed him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lascelles flinched, expecting to be shoved or struck in anger, but Childermass’ mouth was on his so suddenly and with such force that for a moment, he completely lost his ability for rationional thought. Then the reality, the feel of the man’s lips crashing together with his own broke through his scattered mind and the feel of it hit him like a brick to the chest. He made a helpless, high pitched noise in the back of his throat, half whine, half sob, and his arms came around Childermass’ waist and clung there tightly. He opened his mouth and felt his knees buckle slightly as Childermass’ tongue, thick and hot and slick with saliva, thrust its way between Lascelles’ lips to mingle with his own. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lascelles felt lust explode with hot spikes through the center of his body and would have gasped from the strength of it had his mouth not been otherwise engaged. Childermass’ hands, which were gripping him by the neck, moved to wrap around his shoulders and pull him closer and he found himself turned and pressed up against the unforgiving edge of the kitchen counter, felt the man’s thick body pressing into him, bending him backwards slightly with the force of their kiss. He could feel the hot, hard length of Childermass’ erect cock pushing against him and was certain that the other man could feel the same from Lascelles, for he knew he was suddenly and painfully hard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Lascelles moaned, and heard an answering noise, a gruff rumble coming from Childermass as the kiss continued and grew more involved and somehow even more desperate and messy. </span><em><span>Jesus</span></em> <em><span>fuck</span></em><span>, the man’s lips felt so insanely good, sliding against his own, Lascelles belatedly realized that he was making high pitched keening noises and had gripped Childermass by the hips, trying to pull him closer still. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somewhere, in the recesses of the house, a door swung open and shut again, and footfalls could be heard, coming toward the kitchen. Just like that, it was over. Childermass stepped back pulling away as if burned with a sharp intake of breath, and Lascelles opened his eyes just in time to see the man staring back at him, his face a mask of lust and confusion, his chest heaving, before he turned around and left out the kitchen door without a word. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Childermass left the house and immediately walked around the side, to the front and got into his car. He started it up and turned the aircon on high and sat in there, gasping, letting the cool air wash against his fevered face and tried his best to calm down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d kissed Henry Lascelles</span>
  </em>
  <span>. No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> than kissed, he’d attempted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>consume</span>
  </em>
  <span> Henry Lascelles with his mouth, in the man’s parents’ bloody kitchen for Christ’s sake. He felt his breath slowly returning to normal, but the cool air from the car's vents was doing nothing to calm his still raging erection. The man had kissed him back, </span>
  <em>
    <span>enthusiastically</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Lascelles had kissed him back with such force and such heated longing that Childermass’ head was still spinning with the memory of it. He doubted in fact that he’d ever be able to get that image out of the forefront of his brain, and would be forced to go about, imagining that kiss for the rest of his bloody life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Childermass had had sex with a relatively wide array of people, women, men of all sorts, and he’d enjoyed himself thoroughly with most of them. But this was miles beyond any previous sexual experience. The sharp and sudden pang of pure lust twisting in his lower belly when he’d felt the man cling to him and kiss him back… it had rendered him senseless with want. If they hadn’t been interrupted by an approaching servant, or (heaven forbid) by one of Lascelles’ parents, he’d have tried his best to either swiftly maneuver Lascelles to the nearest bedroom, or failing that, would probably have dropped to his knees and sucked him off right there in the kitchen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew he shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have simply grabbed the man and kissed him like that. It was rash and impulsive and dangerous. If he’d misjudged the look in Lascelles’ eyes, if he’d been alone in his desire, the other man would be well within his rights to report him for assault. Or at the very least to demand that he be sacked at once and have his name smeared across the entirety of the internet for his troubles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But deep down, Childermass had been relatively sure that there was something mutual echoing in Lascelles’ hard, light brown eyes. That behind and underneath the flinty look of barely suppressed anger at Childermass’ behavior, there lay a smouldering heat that called to Childermass as surely as if the man had verbally invited him to make a move. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took a deep, centering breath and tried in vain to clear his head of the memory of what it felt like to press Lascelles bodily against the kitchen counter and lick into his mouth. He’d felt the telltale stiffness inside Lascelles trousers where their bodies met, and the mere thought of what lay hidden inside the layers of cloth that had separated them, made him whine in the back of his throat and reach down to palm himself over his own trousers. He decided that sitting in the Lascelles family driveway in his car with a massive hard on was not particularly wise, and so he popped the car in reverse and rolled down to the street to drive home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If anyone asked, he could say he felt ill, perhaps that he’d suffered a spot of heat stroke, and had needed to head home early. Something, maybe the desperate noises Lascelles had made while they’d kissed, told him that the other man would definitely not try to get him in trouble for the transgression, or for his leaving early. They had equal dirt on each other now. Yes, Childermass had forced himself on Lascelles, but the fact that Lascelles had so clearly welcomed it and had so fervently kissed him back meant the man could not accuse Childermass of taking liberties. It was difficult to maintain one’s position of moral superiority when one had, only minutes ago, been gripping one’s gardener by the hips and grinding into him while snogging him silly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A brief fear that Lascelles might lie and say he hadn’t wanted it flitted through his mind, but he banished it quickly. The man had come almost completely undone in Childermass’ arms. He’d want more, and lying, throwing Childermass under the proverbial bus by saying he’d resisted or hadn’t been a willing participant would ruin the chances of them possibly doing it again. Claiming he hadn’t wanted it would be a startlingly stupid move for Lascelles to make, Childermass was sure of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luckily, Childermass’ flat was only minutes away from the Lascelles’ house, and so Childermass was soon back at home, safe behind the walls of his own private residence. He immediately turned on the shower, stripped and stepped inside, flinching as the lukewarm water hit his hyper heated skin. He was still erect, his cock having not flagged in the slightest during his drive home, and after soaping up his hand to get it slick, he grabbed himself and began stroking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His head fell back against the tiles of the shower wall with a moan as he played back the way Lascelles lips had tasted. The memory of the feel of Lascelles body against his own and the sweet smell of his hair and his skin rose up around Childermass inside the damp confines of the shower, and he stroked himself a bit faster. He wanted to last longer, wanted to draw it out further, but he found that once he’d started the slow, up and down strokes to his soap-slippery cock that he was already struggling to hold back. The memory of Lascelles’ angry face and burning eyes and the feel of their mouths sliding together had him incredibly excited, and he came in less than a minute. The force of his orgasm almost made him double over as he gasped and spilled, his spend mixing with the hot water and washing away down the drain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thoughts of Lascelles were not so easily banished however, and Childermass knew he was in for a long night and an uncertain future with what had just transpired between them. After fully washing and towelling himself dry, he lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, hoping to think  about how to solve the problem of Lascelles. Would he have to resign? Perhaps he should. There was no way to simply pretend this hadn’t happened and show up for work again the next day was there? He was aptly employed by Norrell, and he had other means of making a living. He didn’t have to keep working for the Lascelles family if the position became untenable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span>But, if you don’t go back, then you might never see him again</span></em><span>. The voice inside his head mocked him with the true reason he didn’t want to walk away from the job. He</span> <span>wanted </span><em><span>more</span></em><span> of</span> <span>Lascelles, wanted </span><em><span>all</span></em><span> of him, and there was no way to keep up their new association if he simply quit working for the man’s family. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, after his mind had run through every possible way this would play out a dozen times, he gave up and let sleep claim him. He realized that he was exhausted, the events of the day had worn him out considerably, and that he’d likely get no further with the matter until he’d slept on it. Tomorrow would hopefully bring him better clarity than he’d been able to achieve today. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so he drifted off to sleep, still thinking of the taste of the inside of Henry Lascelles mouth and hearing the man’s heated moans echoing in his ears. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Childermass did not return to work the next day. When Lascelles had asked his mother why, striving to sound casual and uninterested, she’d told Lascelles that he’d said he wasn’t feeling well, but had promised to come back soon to finish the work he’d started in the back garden. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lascelles knew the real reason behind Childermass’ absence, but he of course kept silent on that account. For the rest of the day after their encounter in the kitchen, Lascelles had walked around as if in a daze. The twin realizations that Childermass did in fact desire men, and also that he desired </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lascelles</span>
  </em>
  <span> in particular had kept him in a state of semi-constant arousal and confusion for the remainder of the day. He was due in the studio to film his weekly installment of his gossip show later today, and he welcomed the distraction, if only to keep him from fantasizing about the feel of Childermass’ lips against his own for a solid five minutes stitched together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The filming had gone well, despite the fact that Lascelles felt off his game. Suddenly, the snide tidbits about this debutant or that playboy had seemed dull and boring in comparison to the real, flesh and blood heat of his maddenly attractive new prospect, John Childermass. He’d finished up, allowed the makeup person to remove his foundation and blush and had immediately left the studio, feeling strangely ill at ease in an environment he’d once enjoyed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d ended up going for drinks with Drawlight and a mutual friend that evening and had drank entirely too much wine in an attempt to get the image of Childermass’ dark eyes and soft lips out of his head. It hadn’t worked in the slightest, and only resulted in him clinging to Drawlight and gushing drunkenly about a new conquest he couldn't stop thinking about. Drawlight, being Drawlight, had pressed him for details, but Lascelles hadn’t given him anything solid, only saying it was promising and that the man was incredibly sexy. He’d rather die a painful death than let his loose lipped friend know the extent of his feelings for his parents’ gardener. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He awoke the next morning with a blinding headache, mixed with a spark of hope that he’d be able to see Childermass again soon. What he’d do when they </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> see one another was still a question mark in his mind. It would be foolish to assume that the man would just fall into bed with Lascelles. Nothing apparently was easy about their tenuous connection, and assuming that the anger that had sparked between them before they’d kissed the other day would somehow simply evaporate wasn’t feasible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And besides, Lascelles thought whilst fixing himself a very strong mug of tea at the kitchen counter and keeping one eye trained on the back garden, the anger was part of the thrill wasn’t it? Would he still want Childermass so relentlessly if he didn’t also sort of hate him? If he didn’t see the man as dirty and lowly and beneath him, it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying to roll around in that dirt, to be dragged down to Childermass’ level, to be debased by him. Lascelles would be lying if he said he didn’t love the dichotomy between his own upper class gentility and Childermass’ rough hewn, dirt-under-the-nails burlap sack of a personality. He wanted that roughness, that grit, that blunt edge pressed against him, wanted to be made filthy by Childermass. And he was fairly certain that’s what the other man wanted too. Even if he couldn’t admit it to himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And this was how Lascelles had decided to play with the man a bit further. To see how far he could press his luck with pulling out and exploring this conflicting stress between them. The alternative, telling Childermass he was interested and then simply jumping into bed with him, lacked thrill and uncertainty. And thrill and uncertainty were like a drug to bored, wealthy Henry Lascelles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He began to hatch a plan to try and make Childermass so incensed and so aroused that he’d try and take Lascelles by force. Only it wouldn’t be by force, because Lascelles would want it just as badly. He simply had a need to make Childermass </span>
  <em>
    <span>work for it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Lascelles was far too fine a prize to simply let himself be had by every attractive man who glanced in his direction. He had standards to uphold. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After glancing into the back garden fifteen times in the past ten minutes, Lascelles finally caught sight of John Childermass, dressed in his usual worn t-shirt and faded jeans, his hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, pushing a wheelbarrow into the back garden, and his heart leapt inside his chest. The man looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He always looked good, but today, perhaps because the summer sun was already causing his shirt to cling to his chest and torso, or because of the casual ripples of his chestnut hair as it fell about his face, or maybe just because Lascelles knew what it felt like to kiss the man, Childermass looked extra delectable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a few moments thought, Lascelles went to the guest room and changed into a sleek black pair of swim trunks, the kind that hugged his hips and legs and made his shoulders look broader and his waist look narrower. He grabbed a towel and some sunscreen and headed out to the back garden to do some sunbathing.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Childermass was on edge. He’d taken yesterday off, just to get some breathing room after his kiss with Lascelles, had spent the entirety of the day working for Norrell. But now, walking back onto the property, being unsure of when and where he’d see the man again, or even if Lascelles was still staying there, he felt jumpy. He’d made an insane pass at his employer’s son, and despite the fact that the pass had been <em> very </em> well received, they hadn’t spoken since. </p><p> </p><p>He could still see Lascelles immediately after he’d broken off the kiss, before Childermass had turned away. The man had looked a delightful wreck. Cheeks flushed, mouth bruised from Childermass’ kiss, chest heaving and eyes unfocused. He’d looked debauched and pale and beautiful. </p><p> </p><p>Not that Henry Lascelles was a great beauty under normal circumstances. He had a large forehead and a long face, narrow set eyes and pale complexion. But, what he lacked in classical good looks, he more than made up for in sex appeal and a boyish sort of charm (at least until he opened his mouth). And his coloring, the bright red hair against his alabaster skin, the soft brown of his eyes that always looked like they’d be kind, until they turned cold and cruel. There was just something about him, an amalgam of disparate, pleasing features that combined to make him quite nice to look at. Childermass thought he was quite nice to look at indeed, especially in the state he’d been in immediately after Childemass had stepped away from snogging him wildly up against his kitchen countertop. </p><p> </p><p>A quick look around the grounds as Childermass walked into the Lascelles family’s back garden showed no sign of the man. This only served to unnerve Childermass further. He wouldn’t be able to truly relax until he saw Lascelles again, or, failing that, verified that he was no longer staying there. He’d chatted amiably with both of Lascelles’ parents here and there. The mother was friendly, perhaps a touch too friendly and the father was polite but distant. He could ask them, just out of curiosity, if their son were still staying with them if he felt hard pressed to find out. </p><p> </p><p>As it turns out, he didn’t have to wonder for long, because not ten minutes after arriving, he heard the kitchen door open and close and turned around to see Henry Lascelles walking into the garden, a towel and a bottle of sunscreen in his hands. He was wearing a pair of swim trunks that left nothing to the imagination, and a dark t-shirt and his hair was soft and tousled. It took every ounce of Childermass’ self control to keep from staring, to keep from faltering in the act of setting out the tools he’d need to build the arbor. </p><p> </p><p>He had to double down on that resolve when Lascelles stripped off his t-shirt, revealing a pale, chest, dusted with a patch of fine red chest hair and a slender, well muscled stomach and narrow waist. He proceeded to lay out the towel in a large splotch of sun, not five yards from where Childermass was setting up to build the arbor, and lowered himself down to sit on it. He then uncapped the tube of sunscreen and began applying it to his arms and legs, making sure (Childermass was certain of it) to be extra slow and sensual with the application of the cream, letting his long, slender fingers skate languidly over the surface of his skin.. Lascelles hadn’t spoken a word, hadn’t given Childermass the barest glance or the slightest nod of the head to let him know that his presence was acknowledged. So of course, now that Lascelles had appeared, this took one sort of worry away from Childermass’s mind, yet immediately replaced it with a different sort of tension, because the man was pretending that Childermass didn’t exist. </p><p> </p><p>He could now clearly see Lascelles’ game in its entirety. Laying about half dressed, near Childermass, looking as tempting as possible, while simultaneously ignoring Childermass completely. The man was behaving like a spoiled house cat. The kind that lounged around within reach and then swiped at you when you dared to pet them. Well, Childermass had no intentions to try to <em> pet </em>Lascelles. Let the man play his childish game. Childermass swore at that moment that he’d die before he let Lascelles know that he was affected by the sight of the man’s pale, half naked body. </p><p> </p><p>He ripped his eyes away from Lascelles’ hands, hands that were now moving across his chest, the lotion making his chest hair cling darkly to his skin in a way that had Childermass’s throat go dry, and focused on the task at hand. He set out the planks of wood, and the premade lattice work for the arbor in preparation of hammering the pieces together, and resolutely kept his eyes off the red haired man on the towel. </p><p> </p><p>A few minutes later, it became apparent that ignoring Lascelles completely would be impossible. “Mr. Childermass?” he heard Lascelles say his name in that haughty, condescending tone he was growing to really and truly hate. He at first pretended he hadn’t heard the man, but Lascelles was not so easily put off. “Pardon me! Mr. Childermass! Can you come here for a second?”</p><p> </p><p>It was more a command than a request, but to refuse to comply would only make Childermass out to be the one being stubborn. He put down his hammer and grudgingly walked over to where Lascelles sat, looking relaxed and smug, cross legged on the towel. “What is it Mr. Lascelles.” Two could play at the formality game. If it was ‘<em> Mr. Childermass </em> ’ Lascelles wanted, then it would be ‘ <em> Mr. Lascelles </em>’ he’d get in return.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you get my back?” Lascelles lifted the tube of sunscreen in his hand, offering it to Childermass, his face a neutral mask. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass looked at the tube of lotion in Lascelles hand, then at Lascelles’ face, then back to the lotion unbelievingly. <em> He wouldn’t dare....would he? </em> </p><p> </p><p>Seeing Childermass’ obvious discomfort, Lascelles smiled a slow smile. “Come on now, Mr. Childermass. We’re both adults. I simply cannot reach my own back to apply the lotion. And being that I’m white as a sheet, and my bloodline is so refined, I’ll risk bursting into flames if I’m not careful.”</p><p> </p><p>Childermass’s brain had gone a bit haywire upon first hearing Lascelles’ request, but he quickly rallied and sought an excuse not to touch the man. “My...my hands aren’t clean,” he said, swallowing thickly and holding out his dirt stained hands for Lascelles to inspect. <em> Foolish. </em> He should really just refuse and walk away. </p><p> </p><p>“There’s a hose over by the shed, no?” Lascelles remarked with a raise of one light brown brow. Childermass relented with a heavy sigh and went to wash off his hands, knowing he shouldn’t, but also, knowing that the temptation to touch Lascelles’ silky looking pale skin was too strong to pass this up. </p><p> </p><p>He rinsed his hands thoroughly and dried them on the legs of his jeans. When he turned around, he saw that Lascelles was laid out on his stomach now, presenting Childermass with an unobstructed view of his frankly spectacular backside. The man’s arse was a thing of beauty, tight and firm and well shaped under the stretch of the black material of his swim trunks. Childermass felt a bolt of electric excitement shoot through his stomach, but valiantly ignored it as he walked over to where Lascelles was lying prone on the towel. </p><p> </p><p>He had a moment of awkward confusion as to how to apply the lotion, and then flushed with heat when he realized he’d have to kneel at Lascelles’ side. He almost gave up then, seriously considered telling Lascelles to go fuck himself and get back to his job, but something stopped him. Perhaps it’s the quasi-polite way that Lascelles had asked him, without the usual malice or rankor that he used when speaking to Childermass, and maybe Childermass didn’t want to shatter this delicate moment of truce fire. Perhaps it was simply because he <em> wanted </em> to put his hands all over Lascelles’ naked flesh. </p><p> </p><p>He knelt at Lascelles’ waist and uncapped the bottle of lotion, squeezing a liberal portion into his palm. He then rubbed his hands together briefly before smoothing them swiftly across the planes of Lascelles’ shoulders. The man moaned. He bloody <em> moaned </em> at the first feel of Childermass’ touch. It was ridiculous, the sound he made, and so Childermass ignored it (with some difficulty) and instead swiped his hands down Lascelles’ back along his spine, down to the waistband of his trunks. His skin was just as silky soft and smooth as Childermass imagined it would be, and as he lazily pushed his hands up the length of Lascelles’ back, further out, towards his ribs this time, he slipped effortlessly into a small fantasy of what that skin would feel like sliding against his own nakedness.</p><p> </p><p>Lascelles moaned again, a little louder this time and Childermass had to bite his lip to keep from moaning back. “You sound like an actor in a bloody porno,” he growled, because feigning annoyance might be the only way to hide the fact that he was growing incredibly aroused by this little exercise. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles twisted his head to the side to glare at Childermass. “I do not,” he pouted. “You’re only imagining it that way because you have a filthy mind.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not the one moaning like a porn actor, so, I’m not sure where you get the idea that my mind is filthy,” Childermass responded, giving Lascelles’ back a few more swipes with his hands to make sure he’d covered the entire area, then made as if to get up. </p><p> </p><p>“Wait,” Lascelles said, his voice urgent, surprising Childermass into pausing with a hand on the ground, already with one foot planted in preparation to rise. “Don’t you want to get my front?” Lascelles asked. “I think I missed a few spots.” And with that, Lascelles rolled over onto his back and suddenly he was lying, almost beneath Childermass, who was half kneeling over him. Childermass fought a small battle with his eyes to stop them from scanning down the length of the front of Lascelles’ body and lost miserably. That’s when he saw the thick erection straining against the front of Lascelles’ trunks. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass sucked in a sharp breath and stood immediately, tearing his eyes away from the pale man with the hard cock who was laid out beneath him like an offering to some very lascivious god. He turned and walked stiffly away, willing his own cock to stop filling inside his jeans and taking in great lungfuls of air through his nose. </p><p> </p><p>“Where are you going?” Lascelles called out behind him, sounding petulant and seductive in equal measure. Childermass gritted his teeth and bent to pick up his hammer again. </p><p> </p><p>“Back to work!,” he barked over his shoulder, not bothering to turn to look at Lascelles, not knowing if he’d be able to handle doing so in any case. He put his hammer down distractedly, realizing that he wasn’t yet at the stage of nail hammering, and bent to pick up the instructions for the arbor instead. His concentration was utterly destroyed and his mind would not focus on the task at hand as mental images of Lascelles’ pale skin and the tempting bulge in the front of his trunks kept leaking back into his thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>“You're such a poor sport,” Lascelles said, still with a pout to his voice from where Childermass assumed he’d still be lounging on the towel. “All I wanted was to make sure I got full coverage so I don’t burn.”</p><p> </p><p>“What you wanted was nothing of the sort Mr. Lascelles. And being your family’s employee, I think rather than rub lotion all over your body, it’s high time I got back to work on this arbor.” He was proud of himself that his voice sounded so steady and sure, because inside, he was a burning, tingling mess. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re imagining things Mr. Childermass. Maybe you’re filling in the blanks with things that <em> you personally </em> want this to be, but I assure you, all I’m after is protection from the sun.”</p><p> </p><p>Childermass felt a flash of anger at the way Lascelles was denying the obvious sexual tension happening here, denying the fact that he, Lascelles himself was rock hard and trying his best to seduce Childermass while categorically denying it. Just more games. All the man did was play games. And Childermass would be buggered for a fool if he kept playing along. Instead of replying, he picked the instructions up again and then, after scanning them for a minute, began to organize the beams of wood and the lattice screens that would make up the construction of the arbor. He kept his back to Lascelles and pretended the man didn’t exist. </p><p> </p><p>This was apparently not what Lascelles wanted. After a mere five minutes of silence, he spoke up again. “You seem to be under the impression that I’m behaving inappropriately, is that right Mr. Childermass?”</p><p> </p><p>Childermass sighed deeply and turned around to face Lascelles. “Not at all,” he replied. “I was simply pointing out that I wasn’t hired by your parents to spread sunscreen all over their son. I was hired to plant some flowers and build this arbor. So if you don’t mind…” he turned away again after shooting Lascelles a pointed look. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, my parents didn’t hire you to accost me in the kitchen the other day, but you seemed fine with doing <em> that </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Lascelles’ words were barely out of his mouth before Childermass was walking back over to where the other man still lay, propped up on his elbows. Childermass was vaguely satisfied to see a spark of alarm flash in Lascelles’ eyes as he drew closer. Soon, he was standing over Lascelles, looking down at him with his fists and jaw clenched tight. </p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t seem to find it all that unpleasant at the time <em> sir </em>,” he gritted out through his teeth. </p><p> </p><p>“Is that how you kiss all the men in your life? Or is it just the ones whose families hire you to work in the garden?” Lascelles said, glaring up at Childermass with cheeks flushed and chest heaving gently. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry that it happened,” Childermass said, trying to inject as much cold derision as possible into his tone. “If I’d known what a manipulative, spoiled brat you really were, I never would have done it.” </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles scrambled to his feet and stood, his eyes narrowed and brittle and trained on Childermass’s face. “Yes you would have,” he spat out. “You can’t keep your hands off me. You’d have tried to kiss me even if I’d resisted you. You’re a <em> bastard </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“But you <em> didn’t </em>resist me, now did you Mr. Lascelles?” Childermass kept his voice calm and even, and watched as his words caused Lascelles’ eyes to flash with anger and his mouth to press into a thin, colorless line. “You were whining and humping against me, randy as anything.”</p><p> </p><p>Instead of yelling, or hurling another insult at Childermass, Lascelles surprised him and stepped up close, keeping his eyes locked onto Childermass’s. “You want to do it again, don’t you, Mr. Childermass? You want to grab me and kiss me just like you did in the kitchen. Have your way with me whether I want it or not.” </p><p> </p><p>Childermass did in fact grab Lascelles at this point, grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed his face up closer to Lascelles. “I’d rather do literally anything else than put my lips on your faithless, lying mouth,” he growled out in a rough whisper.</p><p> </p><p>This time it was Lascelles who moved first. He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Childermass’. Despite the fact that this made tingles explode deep inside Childermass’ groin, he pulled back instantly, breaking the connection. He was not to be toyed with. Not to be mocked and messed about one minute and kissed the next. He <em> wanted </em>Lascelles yes, wanted him so bad he ached with it, but he refused to play into the man’s twisted little games. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles seemed genuinely surprised to be pushed away, but in an instant, his face went from shock to anger and then his hand flew up and Childermass felt a stinging slap across his cheek. Childermass gasped, then growled and shook Lascelles, once, twice, by the shoulders. Lascelles went limp in his arms, his face was all flushed and his eyes had gone dark and dilated. He didn’t look at all afraid. He looked something entirely apart from afraid. His eyes had gone soft, and they drifted down to rest on Childermass’ mouth while Childermass heaved with suppressed rage at being struck in the face.</p><p> </p><p>“Go on then, Mr. Childermass,” Lascelles veritably purred. “Go on and take what you want. Or do you need another slap to get you going.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re sick,” Childermass hissed.</p><p> </p><p>“And you love it,” Lascelles said, breathless, trembling in Childermass’ grip. </p><p> </p><p>“What do you <em> want </em>?” Childermass asked, growing desperate. He was incensed, madder than he’d been in many years, and at the same time, his whole body was sparking with delicious electricity at the sight of Lascelles, in his grasp with his soft mouth gaping, his breath coming faster. </p><p> </p><p>“I want to watch you lose control,” Lascelles said, then wrapped his arms around Childermass’s neck and pressed his body against Childermass’, forcing the man to release his grip on Lascelles’ shoulders. “I want to torture you until you lose control,” Lascelles said gruffly, then he kissed Childermass again. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass’ couldn’t fight it any longer. He crushed Lascelles in his arms and kissed back, forcing Lascelles mouth open and pressing his tongue inside, feeling Lascelles moan of pleasure vibrate where their lips connected. Lascelles instantly melted against him, became pliant and loose and Childermass gripped the man’s narrow waist with both hands and pulled him closer, rutted against him with a jerk of his hips that he was certain was beyond his conscious control. Lascelles was biting at his lower lip and making those high pitched moans he had the last time they’d kissed, his hands were making a mess of Childermass’ hair, as he grabbed tight fistfuls of it. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass broke away breathless. “Your parents,” he gasped, suddenly seeming to remember where he was. </p><p> </p><p>“Jesus, don’t bring them up <em> now </em>,” Lascelles sneered against Childermass’ open, panting mouth. “They’re gone for the weekend,” he added. “I have a private room,” he said. “If you’re good, I might let you suck my cock behind locked doors. If not, I’ll make you do it here.” </p><p> </p><p>Childemass groaned low in his chest and tightened his hands at the man’s waist. Where did Lascelles find the pure fucking nerve to say things like this? And why did his words cause Childermass’ cock to twitch in anticipation at the thought of sucking Lascelles off…regardless of the location. But he didn’t let the other man know this. “You’ll take me to your room and lock the door, or you won’t take me anywhere,” he said, catching Lascelles’ eyes and fixing him with a glare so he knew Childermass meant business. “And for the record,” he added, “ I don’t plan to be the one to do the sucking.” He smiled and watched as Lascelles eyes went wide, then narrowed and his cheeks flushed.  </p><p> </p><p>Childermass released him and stepped back. “Your room, Mr. Lascelles,” he said with a nod of his head and a motion of his hand, telling Lascelles to lead on. Lascelles looked for a moment as if he’d protest, or reject Childermass’ command, but then he flashed Childermass a sullen look and stalked off in the direction of the house. Childermass took his sweet time following. He was slowly learning the rules of this game. The object being to tease and enrage the other party until they were forced to either dominate or submit. If the pattern held true, Lascelles seemed quite dedicated to making Childermass angry and forcing him into the position of the incensed dominator. It was a role that Childermass was honestly more than comfortable with playing from a purely sexual standpoint. The anger however was new, and it was still hard to tell if Lascelles was goading Childermass toward a mutually satisfying afternoon of rough sex or if he really were just damaged enough to need his partners to hate him. Childermass supposed he’d find out the answer to that question soon enough. He sauntered slowly after Lascelles, who was walking quite quickly toward the promised bedroom. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>This wasn’t going quite how Lascelles had planned. What he’d <em> planned </em> was for Childermass to make a pass at him the minute he asked the man to rub lotion on his back, and then instead, when Childermass had had the gall to try and rise, to leave, he’d turned over in an attempt to give the man an eyeful, almost <em> knowing </em> that Childermass would at that point give in and put his hands and his mouth all over Lascelles. This would in turn provide Lascelles with the opportunity to indulge him for a few thrilling moments before pushing him away, asking him how dare he?</p><p> </p><p>Instead, Childermass had proved surprisingly resistant to Henry Lascelles’ charms. He’d walked away, had the gall to return to work. When he’d broken their kiss the first time, Lascelles had grown impatient. He knew Childermass had a dark side, it was written all over him. He’d needed to bring that out. Release the animal inside the man, and so he’d slapped him. Not too hard. Just enough to get his blood up. It had worked like a charm. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles was learning some very interesting things about Childermass this afternoon. He learned that despite the man’s rough, low class looks, he still had a moral core and wasn’t completely led around by his cock like other men who looked and behaved as Childermass did. He couldn’t be seduced with just a proverbial flash of leg and a come hither smile. Childermass had <em> principals </em> and he had self respect. Which would make it that much more fun to break him down and make him lose all that tightly held control. </p><p> </p><p>He was also learning that Childermass was probably fantastic in bed. The way the man kissed should be classified as a crime. He’d picked up on a distinctive dominant feel from Childermass that made Lascelles shiver with thoughts of what it might be like to push those dominant leanings inside him to the edge, <em> over the edge </em>. Lascelles wasn’t afraid of being hurt. He liked things rough. Liked a little anger in his sex. His prior partners had often balked at his requests that they put a hand around his throat or that they fuck his mouth with the amount of force he really wanted. Childermass looked like he could do the job and do it well, and just imagining the ways Lascelles might goad him into losing control sexually was keeping Lascelles rock hard in his swim trunks. </p><p> </p><p>He glanced over his shoulder to see that Childermass was still following him and saw the man, face dark and unreadable, a few yards behind, sauntering toward the house. <em> Go ahead and take your time </em> , Lascelles thought, <em> soon, I’ll have you exactly where I want you. </em> </p><p> </p><p>He led Childermass through the kitchen door and down a hallway to the left, to where his guest quarters were housed. Just the sound of the other man’s boots on the linoleum of the kitchen floor was making Lascelles’ heart race and his skin tingle with anticipation. He’d have to punish Childermass for walking so slowly, rather than rushing to his bedroom the way he ought to’ve, but he couldn’t risk humiliating him or angering him to the point where he actually gave up and walked away. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles <em> needed </em> this man in his bed, perhaps more than he’d ever needed anyone before. Childermass was his hardest won conquest to date. Sullen, uneducated, gruff. Childermass could have any man or woman he wanted with that pretty face and gorgeous body. But he wanted <em> Lascelles </em> . He wanted skinny, pale, not-quite-handsome Lascelles. Childermass was eaten up with desire for Lascelles, and he knew it and <em> loved it </em>. </p><p> </p><p>He opened the door to the guest bedroom, leaving it open, and went immediately to the walk-in closet where the family kept their spare clothes that were too expensive to be donated or thrown out, awaiting sale at auctions or to be given away as gifts. People would pay good money for his father’s silk ties or the outfits his mother wore on her photoshoots back in the day when her modeling career had been at its height. He selected one of his mother's silk robes and pulled it on. It was long, light blue and covered with water lillies, and tied at the waist with a cord. She’d picked it up when visiting Japan, for probably far too much money, had worn it for a cover shoot for Vogue magazine in 1983 and hadn’t touched it since. Lascelles removed his swim trunks, pushing them to the floor and stepping out of them before tying the robe shut coming out of the closet and back into the bedroom. </p><p> </p><p>He found Childermass, leaning against the door frame and watching him with arms crossed over his chest, an unreadable expression on his face. </p><p> </p><p>This wouldn’t do. The man looked far too at ease. Lascelles needed him worked up, off balance, burning with pent up lust. He walked over to Childermass, walked up as close as the man’s crossed arms would allow and locked eyes with him. </p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t you going to come in?” he asked. “The servants are still about.”</p><p> </p><p>He was pleased when Childermass stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. He then twisted the lock above the knob and just the metallic click of it sliding home had Lascelles shivering with excitement. Childermass had uncrossed his arms in the process of shutting the door and so Lascelles stepped closer. Keeping his eyes trained on Childermass’ face so that he could watch the man’s expression change, he slowly undid the tie on his robe. Childermass’ eyes flicked down to Lascelles hand as it worked the knot open and he let the sides of the robe fall apart. When Lascelles nude body was revealed to him, Childermass’ eyes widened slightly and then tightened at the corners. His mouth dropped open just a bit and his cheeks colored under his tan. </p><p> </p><p>“If you like what you see, you should touch me,” Lascelles said, disappointed that his voice actually had a slight tremor in it from how incredibly turned on he was in that moment. Feeling Childermass’ eyes roaming over his belly and his hard, jutting cock was like a drug. He felt weak with want and he <em> needed </em> the man to touch him. Needed it enough to actually ask for it.</p><p> </p><p>Childermass obediently reached out a calloused, dirt stained hand and placed it on Lascelles hip and squeezed gently. The warmth of it, the rough feel of those fingers caressing his smooth skin, made Lascelles utter a small, embarrassing noise. He stepped closer, and Childermass’ hand stroked its way around, beneath the robe to rest on his low back, and for a second Lascelles wondered if maybe he should just let Childermass do as he wished, if Lascelles should give in without a fight. But then he remembered that the fight is what he lived for and so he marshalled his will and stepped back.</p><p> </p><p>“Take your clothes off,” he ordered imperiously, only to see Childermass’ face split into a wide grin.</p><p> </p><p>“Not yet,” the other man said, his voice low and dark. “I like you like this. Naked and helpless.” He stepped closer again, and this time he snuck both hands into the opening in the robe and around Lascelles waist and pulled him close, against the rough material of his jeans and the soft, worn press of his shirt. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles couldn’t help but groan a little at the contact and then he gasped as Childermass’ hands stroked their way up the length of his back, up to his shoulders, the rough patches of his callouses leaving tickling trails across Lascelles’ bare skin.  </p><p> </p><p>Childermass lowered his head, kissed Lascelles, and Lascelles let him, relaxing into the soft, wet heat of the man’s open mouth against his own, feeling Childermass’ strong arms crush him against the other man’s fully clothed body. </p><p> </p><p>After a moment though, Lascelles twisted out of Childermass’ grasp and stepped back. “I’m not just some toy for you to play with,” he sneered. “Undress at once or I’ll have to ask you to leave.” He was pleased at the surprised look on Childermass’ face when he found his arms suddenly empty and his lips closing on nothing. </p><p> </p><p>The man quickly recovered however and stepped forward, crossing the distance between them again. This time, he reached the fingers of both hands into Lascelles’ hair and gripped it tightly in twin fistfuls. “Oh,” he breathed against Lascelles lips. “I think you’d just <em> love </em> to be my little toy.” Then he pulled Lascelles toward him by the hair and crashed their mouths together. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles couldn’t help but moan, then moan louder when Childermass transferred one hand back down to the small of his back over the robe and pulled their bodies close together again. Lascelles could feel the stiff length of Childermass’ erection pressing against his own naked cock through the rough fabric of his jeans, and before he was fully aware of it, he was grinding against that delicious stiffness and whining in the back of his throat. </p><p> </p><p>“There,” Childermass mumbled against Lascelles mouth. “Rub up against me. Like a cat in heat.” </p><p> </p><p>A flash of indignation cut through Lascelles lust momentarily and he pulled back, still being held mostly in place by Childermass’ hand gripping in his hair and Childermass’ arm around his waist. He scowled up at Childermass, “Better a cat in heat than a stray dog, begging for scraps,” he gritted out and was pleased to see a flinty spark ignite inside Childermass’ dark eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“I know plenty of ways to shut you up,” Childermass replied with a humorless grin and captured Lascelles’ lips with his own in another rough kiss, which Lascelles repaid by biting down a bit sharply on the tongue Childermass snaked inside his mouth. This made the other man moan and crush Lascelles against him even more tightly with the arm about his waist. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass was devouring his mouth, and the kiss was turning desperate. Lascelles didn’t like the helpless noises he couldn’t stop himself from making, and when Childermass thrust against him with a slow roll of his hips, Lascelles <em> keened </em> against his mouth. He was losing control of the situation, his lust making him into a quivering supplicant, gripped firmly in Childermass’ strong hands, unable to do anything for the moment other than kiss him back and rub against his still fully dressed body in mindless lust. He struggled to regain some measure of self control, to come up with a way to turn the tables back into his favor, but his senses were filled up with Childermass’ feel and smell and the taste of his mouth. </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, Childermass pushed Lascelles away and tossed him onto the bed as if he weighed nothing. Now his legs were hanging off the edge, and he was lying parallel to the pile of pillows. The sudden change in position made Lascelles squeak in surprise, and this obvious show of weakness made him <em> angry </em>. He glared up at Childermass from his position of being thrown across the bed. As he did so, he saw the man slowly pull his shirt up and off, to reveal a pale, muscled chest and flat stomach, both dusted with dark hair that led in a trail downward over his belly, narrowing as it approached the waistband of his jeans. Lascelles was struck momentarily speechless, and realized his mouth was gaping open, before shutting it with a snap. He struggled up onto his elbows to afford himself an unobstructed view of Childermass’ well sculpted upper body, but kept his disapproving scowl in place. It was the only thing saving him from sitting up to cover that chest and stomach with worshipful kisses. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass grinned knowingly at him before stepping up to the edge of the bed and nudging his way between Lascelles pale knees. “Care to help me out of my trousers?” he asked with a raise of his brow and a lopsided grin. </p><p> </p><p>“Only if you’ll stop talking and do something about it,” Lascelles sneared. But even as he said the words, he was sitting up, his hands reaching for Childermass’ buckle. He undid it with trembling fingers and then unzipped him, spreading the sides of his jeans apart to reveal his hard cock, now only covered by the thin layer of his pants. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s it,” Childermass said in a voice that was far too self assured, “open your present.” </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles left off divesting Childermass of his jeans, and shoved him away in anger. How <em> dare </em> the man turn the tables like this? Lascelles had planned out a whole seduction scene that involved Childermass being driven wild with lust and taking Lascelles forcefully. Not this condescending instruction. He had to regain control, and so he pushed Childermass hard and turned to crawl further onto the bed, away from Childermass, meaning to crawl fully off the other side of the bed and stand, perhaps close his robe back up so that he could make Childermass work to get it open again. </p><p> </p><p>He was surprised however when he felt a pair of thick, strong hands grab him by the hips and haul him backwards, up onto his hands and knees instead. Childermass grunted with the effort as he pulled Lascelles' arse back snugly against his pelvis. Before Lascelles could even begin to process how good that felt however, Childermass lowered himself to lay on top of Lascelles, forcing the other man down onto the bed on his stomach, crushing him under his weight. Lascelles’ breath exploded out of him in a rush, then he sucked it back in sharply when he felt the press of Childermass’ cock through the thin material of his pants and the silky material of Lascelles’ robe, pressing against his arse. </p><p> </p><p>“Not so fast, Mr. Lascelles,” Childermass’ voice was hot and rough against his ear. Lascelles gave an experimental wiggle, pressing his backside up against Childermass, and was satisfied to hear the man moan low in his throat in response. </p><p> </p><p>“Get off me,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. </p><p> </p><p>“You really want that, do you… <em> Mr. Lascelles </em>.” Childermass’ punctuated the saying of Lascelles’ name with another slow roll of his hips down against Lascelles arse and Lascelles gasped and involuntarily pushed back against him. </p><p> </p><p>“Look at you. Pinned here, all helpless. Every time you wiggle that pretty arse in my crotch you only make my cock harder,” he whispered in Lascelles’ ear, making the fine hairs there stand on end and sending shivers all the way down Lascelles back, sending a spark of sensation to the tip of his own erect cock where it was currently pressed into the mattress beneath him. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles was beyond speech at this point. The feel of Childermass’ weight on top of him, the press of the man’s cock against his arse through the material of his robe, the organic smell of the Childermass’ hot breath against his face where it was torqued uncomfortably to the side as he lay on his stomach. All of this combined to drive him senseless with want. He knew he should reassert himself by repeating his demand that Childermass get off his back, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. It felt far too good to be crushed under the man’s thick, strong body. He thrust his cock down into the material of the coverlet beneath him and then rolled his hips back up into Childermass, and heard the man gasp in response. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I thought,” Childermass said, his voice gruff and deep and not at all smug any longer. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles felt a hand press into the mattress next to his head and felt Childermass’ weight lift off of him momentarily. He could tell by the shaking of the mattress that Childermass was pushing his own pants and trousers down one handed, and he couldn’t help but whine at the implication of what might come next. </p><p> </p><p>He felt a rough hand pull his robe up above his waist, and then Childermass’ body was pressed down against him fully. Only this time, he could feel the long, soft slide of the man’s bare skin all down his back, and the hot, uncovered length of his stiff cock as it settled into the cleft of Lascelles’ arse. Lascelles cried out this time, couldn’t stop himself as the rough noise burst from his open mouth and he jutted back against the silky feel of Childermass’s weight above him. Childermass repaid him with another thrust, this time, his cock slid, jerking for want of lubrication, between Lascelles’ arse cheeks, and Lascelles moaned loudly and writhed beneath him.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, yes, I think I want to take you just like this,” Childermass’ voice was pleasingly rough and shaking with his own desire as he thrust again into the tight space between Lascelles' buttocks. “I could come just like this, rubbing against you like this,” he breathed and proceeded to slather the back of Lascelles’ neck with a wet, open mouthed kiss. This spot, the c7 vertebrae, the place where the back of Lascelles’ neck met the tops of his shoulders had always been extra sensitive, and the feel of Childermass’ soft, wet mouth on it with the rasp of the man’s five o’clock shadow had him gasping. </p><p> </p><p>The combination of Childermass’ hot mouth on the back of his neck, the feel of the man’s stiff cock thrusting roughly into the cleft of his arse, and the friction he felt whenever he thrust down against the coverlet beneath him, would be more than enough to push Lascelles over the edge. There were far more effective and comfortable ways to reach orgasm, but something about the awkward desperation of the act had every nerve ending in Henry Lascelles’ body alight with sparking sensation.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you like that?” Childermass asked roughly against Lascelles’ neck as he continued to lavish it with kisses. “If you don’t, all you have to do is say so and I’ll get up and leave.” </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles cursed inwardly, but he was beyond the game at this point. Beyond the need to play a role. He nodded swiftly, praying that Childermass wouldn’t press his advantage and force him to speak out loud. Luckily however, the nod seemed to satisfy Childermass, who leaned back suddenly. There was a brief pause and then the man spat onto his cock where it lay, buried against Lascelles arse. Another pause occured, after which it became apparent that Childermass was summoning more saliva, and he spat again. The warm splatter of spit soon resolved itself in a well lubricated slide of Childermass’s cock against Lascelles’ arse and Childermass settled down again to thrust roughly against him. </p><p> </p><p>The feel of Childermass’ hot, slick prick sliding between his arse cheeks was indescribable. Lascelles had never been used this way before, and it tripped off both his need to be treated roughly and to be debased during sex. He thrust himself back against the movement of Chidermass’ cock and heard the man make a ruined noise in the back of his throat. With some difficulty, he reached out and found one of Childermass’s hands that was pressed, palm down on the bed beside his head and pulled it, placing it against his throat in a clear invitation.</p><p> </p><p>Childermass got the message and wrapped his hand around Lascelles’ throat from the front, squeezing gently, applying just a bit of pressure, testing Lascelles’ boundaries. “Come now Mr. Childermass,” Lascelles gasped out. “You can do better than that.”</p><p> </p><p>Childermass growled and the hand around Lascelles’ throat tightened considerably, drawing a strangled noise of pleasure from Lascelles’ mouth.<br/><br/></p><p>“Is this what you want, you filthy little slut?” Childermass rasped against Lascelles’ ear, keeping the pressure of his hand steady and tight. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles could only curse in response. “Fuck..<em>fuck</em>,” he gasped out and writhed beneath Childermass’ thrusts. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s it. Make me come with that tight little arse,” Childermass’s voice was velvet dragged over sandpaper in Lascelles’ ear as he continued with his relentless thrusts, his hand tightening imperceptibly around Lascelles’ throat in the process. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles cursed again and struggled beneath him, awkwardly pressing his own aching cock down into the mattress beneath him, then jutting back against the slick friction of Childermass’ cock against his backside. He wanted Childermass to fuck him, to sink that cock deep inside him and pound away at him, but he lacked the wherewithall to do anything more than rock back and forth between Childermass’ body and the bed. He leaned his throat further into Childermass’ grasping hand and his eyes rolled back as the lack of oxygen made his head spin and his cock twitch beneath him. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s it. That’s it. You’re doing <em> so </em> well, you feel <em> so good </em>.” Childermass’ soft voice in his ear was only spurring him onward. “Oh fuck,” Childermass gasped. “You’re going to make me shoot all over you, You’re going to make me come so hard with this sweet, tight little arse of yours.” </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles was lost. The feel of Childermass’ rough, calloused hand pressing tightly against his neck, the slick friction of the man’s hot cock, sliding back and forth in the cleft of his arse, teasing at his opening just a fraction with every thrust, was driving him mad.  Childermass’ velvety scrotum, bumping gently against the bottom of his arse cheeks and the back of his thighs with each thrust, and the soft feel of the coverlet against his own tortured cock as he desperately writhed beneath Childermass’s body felt insanely good. Adding to all this, the fact that Childermass was whispering filthy, intimate things into his ear, and it was getting Lascelles to the brink of orgasm quickly.</p><p> </p><p>“Keep it up Mr. Lascelles <em> sir </em>,” Childermass’s hot breath brushed across his flushed, sweaty cheek as he continued the litany of soft words and worked himself against Lascelles’ body. “You’re being such a good little slut. Squirm for me Mr. Lascelles. Make me come all over you.” Childermass’ voice hitched a little as he said this last statement, betraying the intensity of his arousal.</p><p> </p><p>Lascelles moaned deep in his throat and made a final thrust downward against the mattress before he felt the tingling pressure building inside him clench briefly before cresting into an explosive orgasm, the likes of which had him almost blacking out with the force of it. He went stiff beneath Childermass and let out a rough cry, his mouth gaping open and his eyes screwed shut as he continued shooting against the soft coverlet, his hips jerking shamefully. </p><p> </p><p>The feel of Lascelles coming undone beneath him, must have pushed Childermass over the edge, for he too stiffened, his hand on Lascelles throat tightening momentarily as his thrusts lost their rhythm. “Oh fuck...oh <em> fuck.” </em> he gasped, and Lascelles’ could feel a hot wetness begin to flood across his low back and further slick the movement of Childermass’ cock against him as the man came. “You- you- Oh <em> Jesus </em>,” Childermass groaned as he twitched and spilled against Lascelles for a few more moments, before collapsing on top of him. </p><p> </p><p>The feel of the man’s full weight against his back should not have been pleasant, but Lascelles was surprised at how extremely good it felt to be crushed into the mattress, feeling the sticky wetness of Childermass’ semen between their bodies, feeling the man’s deep breaths in and out as he lay there, loose and hot and sweat-damp on top of Lascelles.</p><p> </p><p>Lascelles luxuriated in the feeling of being pinned down by Childermass perhaps a bit longer than was necessary. To stay here too long, to let this turn into some sort of post coital cuddling was unthinkable, and yet, Lascelles was mildly horrified to realize that he wanted just that very thing from Childermass. He wanted to turn over and wrap his arms around Childermass and kiss him, softly. And that was no good. He couldn’t afford vulnerability or intimacy, the very thought of it terrified him to the core. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Childermass took a few heart pounding moments to calm his breathing and regain his wits as he rested on top of Lascelles’ soft, yielding body. The sex had been astoundingly good. He didn’t think he’d ever come this hard, let alone just from rutting against the outside of a partner’s body, without penetration even being involved. He was tingling all over and finding it difficult to slow his breathing to a normal rhythm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked down at the sweat damp side of Lascelles’ face beneath him and took a moment to admire the way the man’s thick ginger lashes brushed the top of his pale, flushed cheek. Feeling strangely moved by the sight, and high on oxytocin, he couldn’t help himself and bent to place a soft kiss to that cheek. He pulled back and watched in dismay as Lascelles’ face took on the familiar haughty sneer that had categorized most of their non-sexual interactions since they’d first met. He felt a sinking sensation inside his chest as he realized that the building intimacy he’d felt for the man pinned beneath him was regrettably one sided. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Lascelles could make some sort of obnoxious demand, or insult him for some imagined slight, he heaved himself up and scrambled awkwardly off of the man and off the bed. Childermass busied himself with quickly pulling up his pants and jeans, ignoring for the time being the fact that they were messed with his own semen, while he shot a few careful glances at Lascelles to gage his mood. The red haired man struggled into a seated position, looking, to Childermass at least, delightfully debauched with his pink cheeks and red lips and rumpled copper hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lascelles had shrugged off the robe as he’d sat up, and so was fully nude, his pale body on display, his spent cock, resting temptingly on a ginger furred scrotum between his long, lean, marble pale thighs. Childermass was pleased to see that the flush that decorated his face had also spread lower, down onto his neck and chest. He looked used in the best way possible. It was almost enough to inspire Childermass to want to lean in and kiss him, possibly start something up again. He was certain he’d be able to regain an erection after an embarrassingly short amount of time spent kissing the other man, But he knew it was an idle fantasy. Lascelles’ claws were back out now. His fangs were sharp again. There’d be no soft, post coital kisses, no second time after a brief rest, like in normal relationships.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Childermass found and pulled on his shirt, which had been left in a crumpled pile near the bed, he realized that even thinking the word “relationship” in this context was pointless. Lascelles was a deviant. A probable narcissist. The fact that his face and body and voice drove Childermass out of his mind with lust didn’t change that. And to be honest, Childermass was never one to get attached too quickly or stay attached for long. He preferred his autonomy and his freedom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As if to illustrate his recent thoughts, Lascelles slid off the bed and walked stiffly past Childermass. Without a word of acknowledgment, the man walked into the loo and promptly shut the door. That was that. No words were exchanged. No insults. No comments of any kind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Childermass was almost certain it had been a calculated move to make him feel used and cast aside, and this knowledge took a lot of the sting out of Lascelles’ silence. What had he expected? A warm embrace? A ‘have a good day my darling’? Lascelles was clearly not capable of normal, pleasant, human reactions or of shared intimacy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Childermass sighed and gathered his hair back up (much of it had come loose during his tryst with Lascelles) and re-tied it into a ponytail, then he himself left the guest room. The semen stains on his jeans would dry in the sun, and besides, no one was around to see them. He washed his hands in the sink, regrettably washing away the delightful smell of Lascelles’ hair and skin in the process, and returned to work on the arbor, feeling elated and empty at the same time. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>His tumble with Childermass had Lascelles feeling completely out of sorts. He spent the entirety of the rest of the day hiding from the man in the guest room on his computer, doing some half hearted research for his next show. He was hot on the trail of some gossip involving an actor who may or may not be buying heroin from a well known drug dealer in the party scene, and if this were true, or, even believable as a rumor, he could release carefully constructed rumors about it all over social media and discuss it on his show. He’d only make allusions of course. Not baseless accusations. But all that was needed really was a hint of scandal and the press would be off and running. </p><p> </p><p>Something about helping to inconvenience (and sometimes even ruin) the lives of those more successful than himself always gave him a thrill, but today, after his heated encounter with Childermass, he found it impossible to concentrate. His mind kept returning over and over again to how he’d felt being pressed down into the mattress and used by Childermass. How the feel of the man’s hand around his throat and his cock, sliding so close to where Lascelles truly wanted it had pushed him over the edge into one of the strongest orgasms of his life. </p><p> </p><p>He continued to stare at his computer screen for a few more distracted moments before giving up and snapping the laptop closed. Then he rose to pace about his room, unsure of what to do next. He was fairly certain he didn’t want the man to see him again before he left the property. Spending time with Lascelles was a gift and Childermass had to earn it. He wanted more sex, but that would have to wait until they’d reset themselves, back to the awkward, stilted place from where they’d began. If Lascelles was to get what he wanted from Childermass, he’d have to carefully manipulate circumstances so that future encounters would be more under his own control. Losing ground and being rendered utterly useless by the man’s mouth and hands had not been on the agenda for this afternoon, and Lascelles couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed at how quickly he’d given in and practically begged Childermass for his touch. </p><p> </p><p>No, he’d avoid the man for a while. Let the memories of the afternoon they’d shared brew away in Childermass’ brain for a spell and keep his distance. Surely, that would cause the other man to drop some of that maddening confidence and lose control a bit wouldn’t it? </p><p> </p><p>It didn’t matter, Lascelles realized with a twinge of dismay. It didn’t matter what Childermass did. Lascelles simply wanted more of him, and was now faced with surmounting his own rather formidable pride and vanity in order to get what he longed for. Open communication was unthinkable. Lascelles wasn’t sure where this terror of vulnerability had come from. Perhaps when he’d been bullied in school, or when his parents had gone on yet another vacation or business trip without him, hiring a succession of nannies to watch after him while they cruised the Riviera or headed to the Swiss Alps. He’d been a lonely child. A neglected child, and found out pretty quickly that being unpleasant and demanding got far more attention than being kind and sweet. His parents didn’t quite understand sweetness. Both of them had been alternately adored or feared their entire lives and both had been almost utterly consumed by their careers. </p><p> </p><p>They weren’t bad people necessarily. Lascelles had found some common ground with his mother as he’d grown older and they could chat about clothing, make up, celebrity gossip. His father and he however had never made a connection. The man treated him like an afterthought. It was clear that Frederick Lascelles had wanted a different sort of son. Someone he could pass the family business to, but Henry had clearly <em> not </em> been what he’d expected, and he wasn’t shy about letting his disapproval be known in a myriad of subtle ways. </p><p> </p><p>And so Henry Lascelles had grown up to be a fiercely demanding man who was deeply uncomfortable with emotional vulnerability. He knew he was incapable of being open with Childermass about wanting more of his time, and he felt a twinge of disappointment over this fact. But, at the age of thirty, it was too late to change now, now that he was so deeply set in his ways. He wasn’t the type to see a therapist or god forbid, <em> work on himself </em>. That psychobabble nonsense always made him cringe with discomfort. </p><p> </p><p>He’d done fairly well for himself by simply going after what he wanted relentlessly, and when the object of his desires, or the thing he wanted to possess appeared to be out of reach, he’d simply switch to the next shiny object, the next attractive man, the next social medal he could pin to his chest. He would never admit defeat, to being not good enough or to being unwanted, and he’d almost literally rather die than tell John Childermass the effect the man had on him. </p><p> </p><p>And so he’d simply bide his time. Remain aloof and distant and see if he could tempt the maddening man with the dark eyes to come to <em> him </em>, to see if he could make him lose some of that steely control.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Two weeks had gone by, and Childermass had finished up his work for the Lascelles family. The arbor was constructed, much to the pleasure of Mr. Lascelles (the father), and the flower beds were immaculately planted, which made his wife happy. They’d both been very appreciative, and had even given him a nice bonus on his last day, telling him that they’d give him a ring if they needed him in the future. </p><p> </p><p>Regrettably, he hadn’t seen much of Henry Lascelles after their searing hot afternoon of mutual gratification. The man could be glimpsed, as a flash of red hair and pale skin, ghosting through the kitchen now and then, through the window while Childermass continued to work in the back garden, but he never approached Childermass again. A few days later, he'd disappeared entirely, probably having found an alternative place to live. This caused Childermass to feel a strange mix of emotions. </p><p> </p><p>On the one hand he was relieved. The man was clearly unstable and toxic. Childermass wasn’t above sleeping with unsavory people, if he fancied them strongly enough, and he could leave their beds later that night, or shortly after waking the next morning, but Lascelles was in a category all on his own. He was far above (or was it below?) the level of a girl Childermass had once dated who’d stolen his television set and all the money from his wallet. Or the lad who’d tried to film them having sex without Childermass’ knowledge. Those individuals were definitely unhealthy, but Lascelles’ particular brand of emotional manipulation and power tripping was especially dark and devious. And so, in a small way, Childermass was glad to be rid of him. </p><p> </p><p>On the other hand though… The sex had been <em> explosive </em>. And they’d only scratched the surface of the things the two of them would be able to get up to if Lascelles were actually amenable to giving it another go. Childermass had never before felt such a strong pull towards someone, had never felt the heady mix of anger and lust coursing through him as it did when he was in Lascelles’ presence. The man was like a drug, and like all drugs, there was a risk of dependence. Also a risk of serious harm. Perhaps it was this risk, this thrilling danger of what the two of them being together promised to bring, that had Childermass stuck on thoughts of Lascelles. </p><p> </p><p>And he <em> was </em> stuck. There was no denying it. He’d already gotten himself off to memories of their tryst in the Lascelles’ family guest quarters more times than he cared to count over the past two weeks. At first, the promise of seeing the man again soon, of possibly being able to taste him and share pleasure with him again had added extra spice to his imaginings. But as the days stretched on, and Lascelles did not reappear to taunt him or flirt with him, the realization that perhaps Henry Lascells had had enough of him began to creep in and put a damper on his imaginings. Perhaps it was a one time thing? Childermass knew it was actually probably for the best if it were a solo performance. But... he also knew that he wanted Lascelles again, <em> badly </em>.</p><p> </p><p>In the end, he’d regrettably accepted that Lascelles had lost interest in him and he’d left the job, returning to work full time for Norrell, who was predictably glad to have him around more often. Surprisingly though, the loss of opportunity to pursue something more with Lascelles had resulted in him being a bit moody and feeling a little down. Even Norrell, who was far too absorbed in his books to notice much of anything else had picked up on it.</p><p> </p><p>“Something is amiss,” he’d said to Childermass on the evening of the third day after he’d left the Lascelles’ family’s employ. “You’ve been moping about lately.” Norrell put a bookmark into the volume he’d currently been reading and carefully shut it before raising his eyes and fixing Childermass with a concerned look. </p><p> </p><p>“Everything’s fine Mr. Norrell,” Childermass said, stepping down from the ladder after putting a book in its place on one of the higher shelves. “I’m just a bit tired.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s more than fatigue,” Norrell replied, being irritatingly insightful. He could usually be relied upon to completely ignore Childermass’ sometimes dark moods or his long stretches of silence. Childermass you see, was a person and not a book, and despite the fact that the two of them had a certain fondness between them, Norrell rarely seemed to care what people felt around him. For some reason though, he’d chosen this evening in particular to become unsettlingly observant. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re always a little sullen,” Norrell continued. “It’s part of your nature, but lately… I don’t know Childermass. You’ve seemed positively colorless. What’s happened?”</p><p> </p><p>“Like I said Mr. Norrell, nothing is wrong. You don’t have to concern yourself with my moods.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I should think I <em> do </em> Childermass. You’re my most trusted and relied upon employee. If anything were to happen to you, I’d be forced to leave the house far more often than I’m comfortable with, and that would not be good indeed. And so, your well being is in fact quite important to me.”</p><p> </p><p>Childermass knew that this was Norrell’s way of being warm and caring. His roundabout way of letting Childermass know he was genuinely concerned, and smiled a little in response. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all Mr. Norrell. I swear, nothing you need to worry about.”</p><p> </p><p>“If you say so,” Norrell let out a sigh, then clearly feeling that his civic duty was done, he opened his book back up and resumed reading. </p><p> </p><p>After finishing up with the evening’s filing and categorizing of books that Mr. Norrell had asked of him, Childermass decided to walk down to his favorite pub. The place he’d first met Lascelles. It was a Friday evening, and the pub would be busy. Perhaps he’d find someone there tonight who’d help him forget about a certain man with copper hair and pale skin and a cruel mouth that had his head all turned around. Or at the very least, he could get himself properly pissed. </p><p> </p><p>He walked in and went quickly up to the bar, saying hello to his mate Rose who was bartending that evening, and ordering a whisky. He then sat on a stool at the bar and surveyed the patrons. It was indeed packed, with wall to wall people, all chatting and laughing and drinking. Childermass was not particularly extroverted himself, but he did find a certain pleasantness in being surrounded by boisterous people enjoying themselves. He liked watching people, the way they talked, the way their faces moved. How they interacted with each other. And he had a skill for melting into the background when he wanted to, becoming hard to notice. He’d scared Norrell half to death on a few occasions and had the man swearing he would buy Childermass a collar with a bell on it if he didn’t make more noise when walking about the house. </p><p> </p><p>Now, he let his eyes play over the crowds and sipped at his whiskey, seeing if perhaps he’d notice anyone special, anyone worth starting up a conversation with. It was after five minutes or so that he happened to spy a flash of bright red hair among the crowds that had his heart stopping briefly in his chest. A copper haired man, slender and dressed in a form fitting green shirt and tight black jeans was standing a few yards away, chatting with a loud group of women in very tall heels with quaffed hair. Childermass felt his pulse race and his palms go damp at the sight of the man. <em> It couldn’t be. Not here. Not a second time </em>.</p><p> </p><p>As if in response to his racing thoughts, the man turned his head to say to something to one of the women, and Childermass could see the unmistakable high cheekbones and pale skin of Henry Lascelles. The sight of Lascelles, standing in plain view after being avoided by the man for over a fortnight, caused a series of physical reactions to occur inside Childermass’ body. His heart rate doubled, his face grew hot and his skin started to tingle with a heady mix of apprehension and sexual desire. <em> Damn it! </em> Why had the man come to <em> this pub </em> to hang about with his friends? Didn’t he have some sort of posh wine bar where he’d rather be? </p><p> </p><p><em> Maybe he came to find me </em>. The thought ghosted through Childermass’ mind, but he dismissed it immediately. He’d run into Lascelles in this pub for the first time after all, almost a month ago now. It was quite obviously part of the man’s routine to stop in here for a drink now and again. This was just poor timing. Or very good timing. Childermass wasn’t sure which. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t get up and walk over to Lascelles. To do so could have been potentially catastrophic. Henry Lascelles was definitely the type of man to try and humiliate him in public, if that was what he’d had a mind to do. Childermass had no intention of offering himself up for public derision. In fact, he had no intention of speaking to Lascelles at all. With some difficulty, he ripped his eyes away from the man’s slender body and bright red hair and turned around to face the bar, putting his back toward the other man. He downed his whiskey in a few swift gulps and nodded at Rose to fill him up again, resigning himself to ignoring Lascelles completely. </p><p> </p><p>He drank his second whiskey and was starting on his third, feeling the warm buzz working its way through his chest and making his head feel pleasantly light, when he felt someone wedge their way in between him and the patron at the next stool. He looked up and should not have been surprised to see Lascelles’ face, his eyes full of laughter, his mouth pulling up into a small smile as he looked down at Childermass’ face from where he was currently leaning sideways against the bar. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass was ill prepared to deal with the other man’s proximity. The two of them were now pressed together, Lascelles’ front to Childermass’ side. Childermass fought the urge to lean away from him, and also fought the urge to wind an arm around the man’s waist and pull him closer. He didn’t speak, only looked back up at Lascelles’ grinning face impassively. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, look who it is,” slurred Lascelles, clearly a bit drunk. Childermass had never seen the other man this inebriated before, and he hoped to god it made him friendlier. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello Mr. Lascelles,” Childermass said, still keeping his face and tone carefully neutral. He had to shout a bit to be heard over the noise of the crowd. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello Mr. Childermass. Fancy meeting you here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Again,” said Childermass, allowing himself the ghost of a grin. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, for the second time. It seems you’re a regular here no?” Lascelles asked, while haughtily summoning Rose with a flick of his fingers in her direction. She rolled her eyes and walked over. </p><p> </p><p>“What can I get you?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll have whatever my friend here is having, and get him one as well,” Lascelles, apparently feeling magnanimous, nodded his head at Childermass. </p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Childermass responded, downing his current drink in preparation to receive another. He felt that he needed all the courage and stamina the whiskey could give him if he were to deal with Henry Lascelles, drunk and leaning against him. And <em> lean </em> he did. Lascelles did have the excuse that it was frightfully crowded at the bar on his side, but still, he seemed to press a bit too close to Childermass for it to be completely necessary. Not that Childermass was complaining. The side of his body that was currently making contact with Lascelles’ chest and belly was already tingling, already causing him to grow aroused at the closeness and warmth. He cursed inwardly at how easily the other man could affect him this way.</p><p> </p><p>Lascelles soon got his whiskey and Rose poured Childermass another shot, and they clinked glasses before knocking the amber liquid back in unison. Childermass nodded briefly at Lascelles, before turning his head forward again, preparing for Lascelles to leave, or simply say something that would make Childermass want to throttle him. To his surprise however, the man did neither. </p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing at the moment?” Lascelles asked, his breath heavy with alcohol fumes, his eyes losing focus just a bit while they roamed over Childermass’ face. “Want to come outside with me for some fresh air?” </p><p> </p><p>Childermass swiftly tamped down his surprise at the blatant, open invitation, from a man who’d seemed utterly incapable of direct communication during all the other times they’d met. Perhaps if he hadn’t just had four shots of whiskey in somewhat rapid succession, he’d have refused, but he was half drunk at this point, and Lascelles looked criminally good to him after not seeing the man for so long. He nodded, making sure to stay wary and expressionless as Henry Lascelles pulled away from him and walked toward the door, and he followed. </p><p> </p><p>“I need to get a cigarette from my car,” Lascelles explained, once they’d stepped into the comparatively ringing silence of the car park outside the pub. It was a cool evening, a welcome break from a recent heat wave, and Childermass followed an unsteady Lascelles as he sauntered towards a sleek silver car parked on the outskirts of the lot next to the darkened windows of a row of shops. He opened the door and bent to fish around in the center console for a moment before returning with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He shook one out expertly and, gripping it between his lips, he lit it, inhaling deeply before exhaling with a satisfied sigh. </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t know you smoked,” Childermass said, shoving his hands in his pockets so as not to fidget nervously. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t all the time,” Lascelles replied. “Only when I’m quite pissed. And besides, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of that, I am certain,” Childermass replied with a smirk. “So,” he added carefully, warily, not wanting to make a wrong step and bring out the man’s temper, “are you quite pissed now?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes I am!” Lascelles exclaimed, tossing his hands in the air for a moment before letting them fall loosely against his sides. “I got bored and wanted to come out for a drink...or four...or five,” he added with a giggle. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, you seem to have accomplished your goal,” Childermass replied, not really knowing what to say next and not being able to keep his eyes off Lascelles’ mouth where his lips were currently pursed around the tip of his cigarette’s filter. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m actually glad I ran into you,” Lascelles said, swaying just a bit toward Childermass and blowing a stream of smoke almost directly into his face. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass grimaced and waved the smoke away, shooting Lascelles a stern look. “Is that so?” he asked.  </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I’ve missed you it seems.” </p><p> </p><p>Childermass had to fight suddenly to keep shock from spilling across his face. “Have you now?” he said, letting his voice drop a bit and stepping closer. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes. Unfortunately, I have. Seems you’re hard to forget, Mr. Childermass.” The way Lascelles said his name sent chills down Childermass’ spine. This couldn’t be happening. The man was being positively nice and flirtatious. What did he <em> really </em> want, Childermass wondered. He couldn’t help but feel that the other shoe would be dropping any moment. </p><p> </p><p>“Pardon me for being a bit skeptical Mr. Lascelles,” Childermass chose his words carefully, still maintaining a safe distance from the other man, keeping things even and rational. “I seem to remember you being quite distant for the remainder of my time at your parents’ house. At least you were after our little...wrestling match.” </p><p> </p><p>He watched Lascelles’ face carefully for any sign that his haughty sneer would make a reappearance, but he only saw a warm, lopsided grin in response to his words. “Well, you see, I was a bit turned around at the time,” Lascelles explained, taking a small step closer and letting his eyes rest pointedly on Childermass’ mouth. “I had a lot going on, and I couldn’t complicate my life with any… distractions.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ah, so I’m a distraction am I?” Childermass asked, not really feeling insulted. He didn’t mind being a distraction as long as he got to put his hands back on Lascelles sooner than later. But, he also wanted to test the man’s mood a little. Things were going too smoothly, and Lascelles hadn’t snapped at him yet, hadn’t taken a swipe at him with his sharp claws. </p><p> </p><p>“Well yes,” Lascelles replied frankly. “I thought that’s what<em> I </em>was for you as well… unless I’m mistaken...” He stepped closer still, his voice achingly soft and flirtatious and Childermass felt his resolve breaking apart and floating away as he felt himself lean in toward the other man, drawn toward his lips as if by a magnetic force. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Childermass breathed out, “Yes, a distraction works for me as well.” </p><p> </p><p>“Good,” replied Lascelles and closed the final distance between them to place his lips against Childermass’. Childermass felt the familiar flush of desire that ignited inside him every time they touched and he felt Lascelles melt against him and open his mouth, the taste of whiskey and smoke mixing not unpleasantly with the now familiar flavor of Lascelles' mouth. This kiss was different. Far softer and slower and more sensual than the rough clash of lips and tongue and teeth they’d always shared previously. Lascelles moaned softly and wound his fingers in Childermass’ hair, causing tingles to spill across his scalp and down his back. Childermass gathered the slender man up in his arms and squeezed him tightly, but not with the forceful crushing pressure he’d used before. </p><p> </p><p>The kiss grew more heated, Lascelles’ hands in his hair gripped more tightly and Childermass pulled Lascelles against him, groaning at the feel of the other man’s stiff arousal pressing into his own. Right when Childermass’s hands began to move to touch Lascelles further, to press a hand against the enticing erection at the front of the man’s trousers, to try and undo his buckle, public car park be damned, Lascelles pulled back, breaking the kiss. </p><p> </p><p>“There’s only one condition,” he said, breathless in Childermass’ arms, his eyes staring into Childermass’ eyes, crossing gently at the proximity of their faces.<br/><br/>“Oh? And what’s that?” Childermass felt a pang of anxiety at the mention of a condition. <em> Here we go </em> he thought.</p><p> </p><p>“You only have to say ‘please’,” Lascelles whispered against Childermass’ lips. </p><p> </p><p>“What?” Childermass thought he’d misheard him.</p><p> </p><p>“I said, you only have to say ‘please’. You have to ask nicely, otherwise I won’t be able to fuck you without keeping my self respect in tact.”</p><p> </p><p>Childermass released him and stepped away. “I see,” he said, his face closing up as he felt bitter disappointment. “I should have known you’d never be this nice without showing your true colors eventually.” He stepped further apart from Lascelles, then turned around and began to walk away.</p><p> </p><p>Lascelles grabbed his arm, “Wait,” his voice was too calm to be urgent, and that irritated Childermass. He really preferred Lascelles when he was off balance, he was easier to handle that way. Lascelles pulled Childermass back around to face him. “Come on Mr. Childermass,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around Childermass’ neck and leaning in until their lips were almost touching again. “It’s so simple. Just ask me nicely and my body is yours for the night. And if you’d like, and you keep asking nicely, we can keep up this little arrangement. It’s all down to you.” </p><p> </p><p>Childermass was honestly torn. He had no intention of saying please, of begging to be allowed to touch Lascelles, but <em> dear god </em> he wanted to touch Lascelles, and badly. Just having the man close to him, despite his ridiculous request, was making him hard and hot. He knew that <em> Lascelles </em>could tell this, with how he’d pressed his body against Childermass. </p><p> </p><p>As if Lascelles could read his thoughts, the man spoke again, his words causing hot, whiskey scented puffs of air to break across Childermass’ lips. “You want me, I can <em> feel it. </em> ” Lascelles whispered. “I can feel you, ready for me. So why not just <em> say it </em>? All it takes is one little word, and I’m yours.” And with that, he kissed Childermass. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass, rather than get drawn into the treacherous whirlpool of Lascelles mouth again, pushed the man away, holding by the rib cage. “Go fuck yourself,” he growled and shoved Lascelles off of him. </p><p> </p><p>He watched as Lascelles face twisted with anger, and saw his hand pull back, clearly intending to slap Childermass again. Childermass though had had enough. He swiftly caught Lascelles’ hand mid air, holding him with ease, for he was far stronger than the slender man, even if Lascelles had a few inches on him. With the other hand, he grabbed Lascelles by the neck and forced him backwards the few stumbling steps to his car where he pressed him up against it and held him there, one hand gripping Lascelles’ trembling arm in his fist, the other hand wrapped around his throat and pressing him against the curved door of the vehicle. If the only thing Lascelles understood was force then by god, Childermass would speak to him in that language. He rarely used violence in his private life, and always in self defense, but Lascelles’ relentless manipulation and underhanded tricks had pushed him to the edge. </p><p> </p><p>“Is this what you want?” he said through clenched teeth, slamming his body into Lascelles’ and shoving his face up close, close enough to smell the man’s subtle cologne. “You want me to hurt you? Because your slaps are becoming tiresome. Your whole routine, this whole nasty game you like playing is getting <em> bloody tiresome </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Lascelles did not respond, he only stared at Childermass in wide eyed shock. Childermass wasn’t holding him that tightly by the throat. It was more a warning than any real attempt to harm the man or to actually choke him. And indeed, Lascelles could breath easily, his chest was rising and falling sharply with the force of each of those breaths.  </p><p> </p><p>Childermass hated that he was so aroused. Hated that the feel of the man’s pulse hammering away against his palm was making a sharp pang of lust twist low in his belly. Lascelles’ eyes went from wide and shocked back to calculating, and before he could open his mouth again to say something else horrid, Childermass silenced him with a rough kiss. He transferred the hand around Lascelles throat to the back of his neck and pulled the men’s head toward his own as he forced his mouth onto Lascelles’. Lascelles made an angry, breathless sound in his throat and kissed back, and then...they were off and running.</p><p> </p><p> Childermass lost his sense of self entirely. His world narrowed down to the clash of lips and tongue and teeth as Lascelles ate at his mouth. He felt the man’s arms come around to grab his arse in both hands, fingers digging almost painfully into the soft flesh of his buttocks and pulling their hips together, and he rutted against Lascelles, hearing himself moan at the delicious friction. </p><p> </p><p>He was loath to stop kissing Lascelles’ mouth, partly because of what might come out of it, but he was also suddenly consumed with the urge to kiss the man’s neck, so he swiftly abandoned Lascelles’ lips, bent his head and bit into the soft flesh at the place where the man’s shoulder met his neck. Lascelles gasped and redoubled the grind of his hips against Childermass, tightening his grip on Childermass’ arse as he did so. Clearly the man enjoyed love bites, and so Childermass spent some time with his long, white neck, sucking and biting and licking until Lascelles started struggling to speak, using breathless half words and fragments of sentences.</p><p> </p><p>“Childer-mass- the- the car. The car… nuh-now, <em> now. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Childermass pulled back just long enough to move both of them over, clear of the crack in the door and grasping the handle, he sent up a swift prayer that the door wasn’t locked. Thankfully, it wasn’t, and it clicked open easily. He shoved Lascelles into the back seat. “Get in and shut up,” he said gruffly, and was pleased that Lascelles actually obeyed him. He slid in after, and shut the door behind him. They were back in each other’s arms immediately and kissing again, and Lascelles hands were in his hair, pulling at it, and his teeth were sinking into Childermass’ bottom lip in a way that should not have felt as good as it did. </p><p> </p><p>The back seat of a not-large car was not an opportune place for sex, but if Childermass didn’t fuck Lascelles soon, he thought he might go mad. It was dark in this far corner of the car park, and he doubted anyone would see them, and it was somewhat soundproof. It would have to do. “Trousers. Off. <em> Now </em>.” He said before reaching down to unbutton and unzip himself. When Lascelles didn’t move to do the same, Childermass shoved him down onto the back seat. </p><p> </p><p>He pushed his own jeans down his thighs, then rose on his knees between Lascelles long legs and began to undo the other man’s belt. Lascelles refused to help, and only looked up at him with a wild, rebellious gleam in his eyes and a small smile on his lips, his rapid breathing and flushed cheeks betraying the fact that he was enjoying himself more than he let on.</p><p> </p><p>“Is this your plan?” He said, sounding far too relaxed and pleased for Childermass’ liking. “To undress me and have your way with me, whether I like it or not?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you,” Childermass said, almost conversationally, “and if you don’t want it, tell me to stop.” </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles didn’t say anything, and Childermass smirked at his silence. He finally got Lascelles’ trousers undone and then yanked them and his pants down and off, shucking the man’s shoes off his feet in the process. He only took the briefest moment to admire Lascelles’ hard cock, long and dark and stiff, laying against his pale stomach before he settled on top of him. The feel of their naked lower bodies making contact drew shocked gasps of pleasure from them both before Childermass claimed Lascelles mouth again. </p><p> </p><p>He rocked them together, feeling the length of his cock slide along Lascelles’ between their bodies, feeling the man lift his hips to get more of that soft, maddening friction. Childermass moaned against Lascelles lips and he heard the other man make his now familiar keening noise in response. He reached his hands under Lascelles and grabbed him by the arse and lifted him, pulling him up and against his body with sheer force of strength and Lascelles broke the kiss to cry out sharply into the close space of the inside of the car. His knees rose up on either side of Childermass’ hips, and his ankles crossed over Childermass’ bare arse. </p><p> </p><p>The maddening friction felt beyond good, but it wasn’t enough. Childermass wanted to be <em> inside </em> Lascelles. He’d dreamed about it for the past fortnight straight, and he could tell, from Lascelles obvious sexual experience, his bratty attitude and his lust for domination from partners that he was likely well suited to take Childermass in easily. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to fuck you,” he said against Lascelles’ mouth, and immediately felt the vibrations of Lascelles’ resulting moan against his lips. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course you are,” Lascelled laughed breathlessly. “Everyone wants to,”</p><p> </p><p>Childermass couldn’t help but chuckle mirthlessly back at Lascelles’ complete gall. “You’re unfucking believable,” he said gruffly, then kissed Lascelles again. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass ceased kissing Lascelles and pulled off him a few seconds later, and was pleased to hear Lascelles groan in frustration at the lack of touch. Childermass then presented two of his fingers to Lascelles. “Suck on these” he said and unceremoniously shoved the two fingers in between Lascelles’ lips. He took them happily, sucking the pointer and index fingers of Childermass’ hand deep into his hot, wet mouth. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass gasped at this preview of Lascelles’ body’s temperature and what it would feel like surrounding another sensitive part of his anatomy. Once the copper haired man had gotten Childermass’ fingers nice and sopping wet, Childermass slowly teased at Lascelles’ opening, pressing in gently, going slowly.</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus man, you’re not going to hurt me. Put some muscle into it,” Lascelles’ voice sounded on the edge of boredom, despite his breathlessness, and so Childermass sank his fingers in to the knuckle in one stiff press, and then, after Lascelles had gasped and arched his back in response, Childermass started fucking him hard with his fingers. </p><p> </p><p>“Good enough Mr. Lascelles?” He asked, driving his fingers home again and again in rapid succession. Lascelles nodded and moaned, letting his head fall back against the armrest on the door of the car, mouth gaping. </p><p> </p><p>“F-fuck, fuck me,” He panted, and Childermass immediately slowed the pace of his thrusts, and lazily pushed and pulled his fingers in and out of Lascelles’ arse with deliberate patience. </p><p> </p><p>“What was that?” Childermass asked, his hand still pumping slowly while Lascelles writhed impatiently on it, his cock, stiff and jutting above his belly between them. </p><p> </p><p>“I said fuck me, you <em> peasant </em>,” Lascelles hissed. “Have you gone deaf?”</p><p> </p><p>Childermass frowned down at him, knowing he was trying to push him to get a rise, to make him act rashly. “Just for that charming little remark, I’m going to fuck you very, <em> very </em>slowly,” he said as he licked his hand and slathered his cock with dose of saliva, spreading the spit and precum over his head with the tips of his fingers. Then he lined himself up with Lascelles’ entrance, and sank his way into the man’s tight heat. He bottomed out slowly with a groan and Lascelles gripped his forearms and cried out sharply. Childermass laid back down on Lascelles’ body again, and that change in angle pulled him out of Lascelles slightly and pressed his belly to Lascelles’ cock, and the other man moaned low in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass lay there for a moment, reveling in the feel of being sheathed almost entirely inside Lascelles’ body, feeling the pound of the other man’s heart under his own and against his buried cock simultaneously. </p><p> </p><p>“Move damn it,” Lascelles groaned against Childermass’ neck, and Childermass smiled. </p><p> </p><p>“If I were of a mind to make this difficult for you,” he smirked, “I’d make you say <em> please </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> You! </em> You, fucking… <em> ah! </em>” Whatever insult Lascelles had been about to hurl at him was lost in a sharp cry as Childermass pulled out and slammed home swiftly. </p><p> </p><p>“You want this rough?” Childermass growled into Lascelles’ open, gasping mouth. I already promised you <em> slow, </em> but I can go slow <em> and </em>rough if you like.”</p><p> </p><p>“I hate you, you bastard, you fucking-” Childermass shut the man’s mouth with his own and executed another sharp snap of his hips and Lascelles moaned loudly agaist his lips and arched beneath him. He sat there again, waiting for Lascelles to grow impatient, and then slammed his cock home again. More waiting, then another sharp thrust. Lascelles had given up insulting him and was kissing him back with rough abandon. His hands had come up to grasp Childermass by the hips, and he struggled to pull him into a faster pace. He was whining high in his chest in frustration, and bucking his hips but Childermass persisted with the inconsistent, sudden thrusts, their bodies making a slapping sound each time they met. </p><p> </p><p>Eventually, though Childermass would love to keep torturing Lascelles with the arhythmic snaps of his hips, he was growing impatient as well, so he moved a hand to Lascelles’ throat and pressed down experimentally. Lacelles pressed his neck up into Childermass’ hand, his needs clear, and so Childermass leaned more weight on his hand and heard and felt a strangled cry of lust from the back of the man’s throat. Still, Lascelles’ head was propped up against the door, and this wasn’t a safe position to choke him, so Childermass took him by the hips and pulled him further down, onto his cock and toward the door closest to Childermass, so that his head would rest flat. This resulted in a surprised cry and a huff from Lascelles before Childermass placed his hand back against the man’s throat and resumed fucking him. </p><p> </p><p>He set up a faster pace, fucking Lascelles in earnes, his eyes drifting half closed with the intense pleasure of his aching cock pumping in and out of that tight, gripping passage. He leaned back a bit and supported himself on the seat beneath him with one hand while the other remained pressed against Lascelles’ neck. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh fuck,” Childermass moaned, the increased friction between them causing his skin to go hot and tingling all over, “Oh fuck, you have such a tight little arse,” he continued breathlessly. Something about Lascelles made him spill filthy talk in bed. Not that he didn’t enjoy that fact, and he wasn’t getting any complaints either. Lascelles’ eyes were rolling back in his head, his mouth open and with every thrust of Childermass’ hips, he’d make a sharp, rough moan, an <em> ah! Ah! Ah! </em>It was music to Childermass’ ears. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re going to pull the come out of me with that tight arse,” he gasped, increasing his pace as Lascelles yelped and moaned beneath him. “Where do you want it?” he asked, staring down into Lascelles’ wide open eyes. “Want me to come up inside this tight arse? Or, do you want me to pull out and shoot all over you? Ruing another one of those posh shirts eh?” </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles struggled to speak and so Childermass pulled back with his hand on the man’s neck to give him air, his thrusts unabated. It was never a good idea to give Lascelles room to talk without some distraction to keep him off balance. </p><p> </p><p>“F-fuck you. You wouldn’t dare,” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” breathed Childermass, “I’d love either. Feeling your tight muscles milking every last drop of my come from my cock...I’m not going to lie, that would be better, but watching it spray out over your chest and belly, that would also be something to see.” He couldn’t help but moan and stopped for a moment, stilling his thrusts because the thought of reaching climax while watching the white strings of his semen streak across Lascelles expensive green shirt had brought him too close. </p><p> </p><p>“Inside me,” Lascelles gritted out through clenched teeth, seeming to know when he was backed into a corner (quite literally.) </p><p> </p><p>“Very well, then you’d better work on yourself, because this won’t take long,” and with that, Childermass hoisted Lascelles legs onto his shoulders, grabbed his hips and started pounding into him at a jackhammer’s pace. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles cried out and immediately snuck a hand between them to grip his red, twitching cock and began to jerk himself swiftly. His head fell back and he closed his eyes, and Childermass didn’t like this. </p><p> </p><p>“Look at me,” he said roughly. “Look me in the eyes. I want to see you see my face when I come inside you.” </p><p> </p><p>Miraculously, Lascelles complied, opening his eyes and fixing them on Childermass’ face as Childermass fucked him with a steady, hard pace. “Oh fuck,” Lascelles moaned, his eyes tightening, mouth gaping. “Oh fuck, I’m going to come soon,” he warned. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, yes, fuck. I’m going to- I’m-” Childermass couldn’t finish his sentence because the heat and grip of Lascelles body finally did him in and he began to feel the first tingles of his climax building. He saw Lascelles stiffen and arch beneath him and the man’s hand on his own cock was a blur of movement before he yelled and spilled between them. </p><p> </p><p>“<em> John! </em>” he cried out as his spend spilled from him and landed in pearlescent streaks across his chest and belly. This caused the man’s body to twitch and pulse around Childermass, and that pushed him over the edge. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh fuck, Henry, <em> fuck </em>!” Childermass’ orgasm peaked and exploded and his cock jerked inside Lascelles as he came, hard. He gasped his way through the waves of pleasure, his hips jerking, his mouth open. He was distantly aware that he was shouting Lascelles’ first name over and over, interspersed with the word ‘fuck’ and realized he didn’t care. </p><p> </p><p>As he came down from the pleasure he collapsed onto Lascelles, not caring about the mess between them. He secretly thought it was just a bit hilarious that he’d threatened Lascelles with ruining his shirt and then the man had gone and done it himself anyway. But he knew voicing this thought would get him kicked out. </p><p> </p><p>Surprisingly, Lascelles arms came up around his neck and he was pulled down into a soft, post coital kiss. He kissed back, feeling the warm slide of Lascelles’ lips and the lazy dip of Lascelles’ tongue against his and sighed. If only this was the way it always was. </p><p> </p><p>He felt himself shrink and fall slowly out of Lascelles’ body and the resultant ooze of warm semen leaking out made him cringe gently. Lascelles stiffened, and he knew that their moment of shared intimacy was over. </p><p> </p><p>“Get out,” Lascelles said, pushing him away. “You’ve ruined the upholstery of my car, you animal! Get out!” </p><p> </p><p>“Come now, Mr. Lascelles,” Childermass said with a wry smirk as he pulled back and sat, pulling his trousers and pants back up with some difficulty. “To be fair, it was your own arse that caused me to make a mess of your upholstery.” </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles didn’t like this one bit. He too sat up, ruined and rumpled and covered with his own semen and shot daggers at Childermass with his eyes. “I said, <em> get out </em>,” he growled. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass shrugged and opened the door to leave. </p><p> </p><p>“I never want to see you again,” Lascelles shouted after him, and despite the fact that the other man was likely blowing hot air, and despite the fact that he was a wholly unpleasant person when not coming undone beneath Childermass’ body, Childermass felt a stab of disappointment that things couldn’t be different. </p><p> </p><p>He pulled himself out of the car and leaned on the frame, looking at Lascelles one last time before he left. “It’s a shame,” he said, letting true regret color his tone. “That the sex is so good, and yet you’re such an evil bastard. We could have had a good time.” And then he shut the door on Lascelles’ yell of indignation and walked away. He heard the back, passenger side door open and close behind him and heard Lascelles angry voice echoing out over the car park, making the heads of a couple of drunken patrons turn in their direction as they walked to their vehicle. </p><p> </p><p>“You fucking disgust me! You’re trash!”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever you have to tell yourself to get by Mr. Lascelles!” Childermass yelled back, turning briefly to fix the man (who was glaring at him from behind the shelter of the vehicle's back door,) with a condescending look before he went back to walking and swiftly made his way to the pavement and off toward his flat. He heard Lascelles call out something else, some other insult, but he was too far away at this point to hear him well. He heard the words ‘prick’ and ‘useless’, but didn’t care to learn the rest.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: some brief not-too-explicit violence and an ant-gay slur in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lascelles smiled into the camera. “I’m not going to spread baseless rumors,” he said, keeping his voice light and lilting, tipping his head and smiling more broadly in a way he knew his audience loved, “especially about something as serious as marital infidelity, but…” He let the sentence hang in the air, let the implication hang with it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And now, moving on. I hear Emma Thompson might have had a little work done. I can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>prove it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but lets just say she’s looking younger now than she did on the set of Much Ado About Nothing, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that,</span>
  </em>
  <span> my dear audience is quite an accomplishment.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He ended the show with his usual goodbye, “Keep those eyes open and that mouth busy and I’ll see you again next week for another installment of Cat Talk with me, your fine, fit and fancy host, Henry Lascelles.” He grinned at the camera until the director yelled cut, then his face fell into a scowl. “Jesus,” he muttered pulling off his mic despite the fact that an assistant was rushing over to do it for him. “These lights are killing me today.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d been in a foul mood ever since Childermass had fucked him in the back seat of Lascelles’ car. It had been intensely good, the feel of the other man’s cock inside him, watching Childermass lose control as he came. The memories of it haunted him, but so did the fact that Childermass could not be moved. He couldn’t be manipulated into doing what Henry Lascelles wanted him to do. He was his own man. And that rankled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What also rankled is that Lascelles had been stupid enough to let his anger over letting the other man so completely ruin him that he’d told Childermass to go and never come back. That had been extremely stupid of him, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wanted to see the man again, but he was certain that blowing the other man off so completely had done the trick. He was unlikely to see Childermass again. Unless of course he showed up where Childermass spent time and made nice with him. And he’d already done that once. It had ended quite satisfyingly. If only Lascelles hadn’t let the fact that his car and his shirt were completely ruined with a mix of their semen, and Childermass’ casual attitude over it all spur him into pushing the man away in such a final and irrevocable manner. He highly doubted that soft kisses and kind words would work on Childermass a second time. And Lascelles was frankly terrified by the prospect of opening up to that extent, allowing himself to be soft for Childermass to that degree. He felt it, this irritating, relentless softness in the pit of his stomach and warming his chest when thoughts of Childermass crept into his mind, and he</span>
  <em>
    <span> hated</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He let the makeup girl do her job, as she swiped quickly at his cheeks and chin, eyes and mouth, removing the carefully applied products from his face before getting up and stalking out of the studio in a rush. It was late. He usually filmed during the afternoon, but there had been some sort of technical problem and he’d been forced to come in at 8 o’clock and it was now well past 10. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He let the studio door swing shut behind him with a bang and walked swiftly toward his car, (his car that had to be professionally cleaned by a very discreet car cleaning company after his last encounter with Childermass) through the almost deserted lot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It registered faintly with him that it was dark in the large car park, and that his car was one of only a few, the others belonging to the staff of the television station, who would be busy finishing up for the next couple of hours. He had just enough time to feel a small twinge of paranoia at being alone in a deserted area before he spotted a man in a black coat and a ski mask melt out of the shadows between two buildings, right near where his car was parked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man strode up to him so quickly that Lascelles barely had time to flinch in alarm before the strangers fist made contact with his face. Pain exploded in white fireworks behind his eyes as his head jerked back with the force of the blow, and he stumbled and almost fell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s for spreading your lies and sticking your faggot nose where it doesn’t belong,” the man’s voice was gruff and unrecognizable. Before Lascelles could react further, the man’s fist made contact with his stomach and he doubled over gasping and dropped to the ground. The man followed him down and he heard the blood curdling, metallic snap of a switch blade opening, before he felt a sharp pain in his stomach. He cried out, only to be kicked in the face. “That’s from a friend. He wanted me to tell you to shut your mouth.” The man’s cold voice said, and it was the last thing Lascelles heard before darkness rushed up and he lost consciousness. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As a heads up, I went really soft and angsty at the end. If you want the boys to end on a harsh note, you can skip this last chapter, but if you're like me and can't help but try and redeem Lascelles a little and make shit fluffy and sad, then please read onward.</p><p>Thank you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Childermass and Norrell were reading together. It was a thing that happened sometimes. Norrell would grow distracted and would get lost in a book, and then Childermass would sit at a desk or table nearby in the man’s massive study and would start perusing a book himself. This would invariably turn into an hour or so of silent, mutual reading, with nary a word between them. </p><p> </p><p>It was one of the things that Childermass truly enjoyed about working for Norrell. Yes, the small, older man could be cantankerous and obstinate. Yes, he was incredibly eccentric and maddeningly obtuse at times, but still, he treated Childermass with respect and seemed genuinely fond of him, in a muted, avuncular type of way. And he let Childermass read his books, if he wasn’t too obvious about it and didn’t remove them from the premises that is. </p><p> </p><p>“Huh,” Norrell remarked distractedly and Childermass could hear the rustling of a newspaper. He ignored the man’s comment, knowing that if Norrell truly wanted to share something, he’d speak up further. And within another few seconds, he did. “Weren’t you working for that Lascelles family a little while back?” he asked, and at the sound of Henry Lascelles’ surname, Childermass flinched slightly.</p><p> </p><p>It had been almost a fortnight and he was just starting to miss the taste and feel of Lascelles’ body. He knew it was pointless, that the man was a horrible mess and he should stay well enough away, still....he’d be lying if he said the astoundingly good sex they’d had wasn’t haunting him just a bit. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” he replied out loud. “I worked for the family for a few weeks last month. Why?” He kept his voice light as he looked up from the book he was reading and over at Norrell where the other man had a paper open in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>“Was Henry the father?” Norrell asked.</p><p> </p><p>“No, the father is Frederick. The son is Henry,” he felt a strange chill as he saw the furrow of Norrell’s brow as he looked down at the pages of the paper. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, well, it says here that the son, Henry...ended up in hospital.” Norrell remarked. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass felt his blood run cold. “Why?” he asked, unable to keep an urgent tone from his voice. </p><p> </p><p>“The article says he was attacked. Beaten badly and stabbed in the stomach by some unknown assailant.” </p><p> </p><p>The cold jolt in Childermass’ gut tightened into a full on feeling of dread. “What state is he in now? Is he alright?” </p><p> </p><p>The obvious worry in his voice was making itself known even to Norrell, who wasn’t exactly insightful where human emotional nuances were concerned. “Why? I hope he wasn’t a friend… did you know the man?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Childermass responded, seeing no point in lying. “We got to know one another quite well.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that is a pity,” Norrell said, frowning down at the paper again. “Says here he did survive, but he’s in poor shape. His stab wound to the stomach punctured some vital organs and he required quite a bit of surgery. It happened early last week.”</p><p> </p><p>Childermass felt a flush of fear and pity wrench inside his chest. He couldn’t help it. Lascelles and he shared a very precarious connection, based on a strange mix of lust and an active dislike, but that didn’t mean Childermass didn’t care for him underneath it all. Or at least, he cared for the person Lascelles might have been if he weren’t such a disaster 90% of the time. </p><p> </p><p>“Which hospital?” he asked, struggling to sound more casual than he felt. </p><p> </p><p>“Barts,” Norrell replied absently. “Looks like he reported gossip on the wrong person and got stuck for his troubles,” he added, a touch unkindly, but Childermass ignored him.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I leave early today sir?” he asked, feeling the urgent need to see Lascelles and hating himself for it just a little. “I’d like to visit him while I can.” </p><p> </p><p>“Certainly. I hope he pulls through well,” Norrell said, putting the paper aside and picking up a book. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass was out of his chair and out the door in seconds. He rushed down to the car with his breath coming fast and his heart pounding. Why was he running to the bedside of a man who’d quite clearly stated that he never wanted to see him again? He wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps it was because he didn’t believe that Henry Lascelles had ever actually meant it. He knew the other man wanted to see him again and only lacked the courage to admit it. Another reason might have been that he somehow knew Lascelles didn’t have many friends, at least not many real ones. If he chose to voluntarily hang about with that twitching sycophant from the other week, he must not have a vast array of people who’d willingly visit him in the hospital. </p><p> </p><p>But the real reason, the one he didn’t want to admit to himself, was that he’d grown a bit soft on the man. He wasn’t much for sentiment, but he had to recognize about himself that fucking someone repeatedly, getting used to their taste and smell and the movement of their body usually had him feeling fond of them after a while. It was just biology. Brain chemistry. And the fact that unlike Henry Lascelles, John Childermass wasn’t a complete narcissist. </p><p> </p><p>He missed Lascelles. Just a little bit, but enough to make him feel like a fool as he sped away from Norrell’s house toward St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.</p><p> </p><p>He walked up to the reception desk and asked after Lascelles and was told the room number and given instructions. With his heart pounding and his palms damp with nervous anticipation and just a touch of fear, he rode the lift to the second floor and found the room. </p><p> </p><p>He stepped inside cautiously, not knowing what to expect, and saw a curtain, half pulled around to obscure the one bed in the room, upon which the dark shape of a man could be seen through the opaque blue material. There was the ever present beeping of the heart monitor and other machines he couldn’t hope to recognize. Other than that, the room was silent and half-dark. The large windows let in a lot of light, but the overhead lights were switched off, leaving parts of the room in shadow. </p><p> </p><p>He cautiously stepped around the curtain and looked down at the man on the bed and felt his breath catch in his chest at the sight of Henry Lascelles. The other man was asleep, his eyes, what Childermass could see of them through the heavy bruising, were closed. His mouth gaped open gently and was mercifully free of bruises, but Lascelles’ eyes and nose (which was splinted and half covered with bandages and tape) were a mass of dark blue and purple splotches, obscuring the shape of his features and making it look like he wore a gruesome masquerade mask. His stomach looked padded under the blankets, probably due to extensive bandaging, and his chest rose and fell gently under the covers. One pale, long fingered hand was flung out to the side of the bed, punctured with an IV needle that dripped fluids into him through a tube. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass froze as his eyes roamed over Lascelles’ recumbent form, his bandaged face and his matted red hair where it lay, damp against his forehead. He felt a swell of pity and sudden, almost unwanted affection for Lascelles in that moment. He knew it was simply because the man was silent and helpless, two things that rarely happened at the same time. He looked unbearably innocent and horribly weak and frail, and Childermass was confused and almost irritated by the strength of the sympathy and warmth he felt for the man while standing silently at the foot of his hospital bed. </p><p> </p><p>He stepped closer, and after pausing for a moment, considering the wisdom of his actions, he took Lascelles’ limp, cool hand in his own rough warm one and gave it a gentle squeeze. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles eyes fluttered open, and he coughed a little as he regained consciousness. His gaze fell on Childermass’ hand in his own, before lifting to rest on Childermass’ face. And then, shockingly, a warm smile broke slowly across his features. </p><p> </p><p>“You came back,” he said, his voice a thick rasp, still smiling, without any hint of his usual sarcasm or derision. It was hard to see his expression clearly, being that his face was so bruised, but his voice sounded so soft and sincere that Childermass almost reared back in surprise. Instead, he looked around briefly and pulled a nearby chair toward him so that he could sit. </p><p> </p><p>“That I did,” he replied, keeping his own voice neutral and careful. Not knowing what was going on inside the other man’s head to make him look at Childermass with such open affection. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m glad,” Lascelles said, “It’s nice to see your face. Mine is not so pretty anymore, regrettably,” he coughed again, and winced as if the action caused him a good deal of pain.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t look all that bad,” Childermass said with a small smile. “You’d do well as an extra in a zombie film.”</p><p> </p><p>Lascelles actually laughed weakly at that, wincing again. Childermass winced in sympathy. </p><p> </p><p>“In all seriousness though, Mr. Childermass, I’m glad you’re here,” Lascelles said, giving Childermass’ hand another soft squeeze. Childermass, against his better judgment, placed his other hand over Lascelles’ holding that white, cool hand with both of his own, hoping to warm it. “I have some things I need to say to you,” the pale, red haired man said, and Childermass felt apprehension bloom in his belly at what Henry Lascelles might possibly have had to tell him. Prior conversations hadn’t gone so well. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m all ears,” he said, forcing himself to smile, hoping Lascelles would be too weak and in pain to spill any more poison at him. He didn’t think he could handle it in his vulnerable state. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, it’s quite embarrassing,” Lascelles began, his grin growing a bit wider, but no less warm. If anything, he looked even more fondly at Childermass. He licked his lips and swallowed thickly. “First, I’d fancy a sip of water, if you could just…”</p><p> </p><p>Childermass looked around and saw a plastic pitcher and a cup with a straw in it on a nearby table. He gently released Lascelles’ hand and went and poured him a cup of water, holding the straw to his mouth while the other man sucked down a few gulps. He put the cup back, returning to his position at Lascelles’ bedside, retaking his hand.</p><p> </p><p>Lascelles sighed shallowly and let his eyes drift shut for a moment. “It must be noted,” he began, his voice reedy and ragged at the edges, “that I am currently under the influence of heavy painkilling narcotics. When they wear off, I’ll be the same nasty cunt I’ve always been, so you should appreciate this little break while you can.” Though his words were harsh, his face retained it’s beatific half-smile and his hand squeezed Childermass’ again warmly. </p><p> </p><p>“Duly noted,” Childermass remarked with a knowing grin. “I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” replied Lascelles. “So, while I’m being pumped full of drugs, it occurs to me that I owe you an apology.” </p><p> </p><p>Childermass’ eyebrows lifted toward his hairline in surprise, but he kept silent and waited for Lascelles to continue. </p><p> </p><p>“I owe you an apology for treating you so horribly,” he said. “I’ve always been this way. Sharp. Cold. Unforgiving. It’s a character flaw that I can’t seem to rid myself of, but you did nothing to deserve my derision.” </p><p> </p><p>Childermass nodded but kept silent, beyond curious as to how far this rare contrite streak would go, feeling that damnable fondness for the other man grow in the presence of his softness. </p><p> </p><p>“It seems, much to my complete and utter horror,” Lascelles said, “that I’ve gone and fallen for you. Fallen in love that is. I was fairly certain that my heart had been replaced with a chunk of ice years and years ago, but apparently, there’s still a real, flesh and blood organ in there, pumping away, and it’s done me the favor of singing your name to me at all hours of the day and night. Rather annoying really.”</p><p> </p><p>Childermass felt his mouth fall open in surprise. He wanted to shake his head and deny the other man’s words, to tell him to stop being ridiculous, but the look on Lascelles face was more than just the dopy expression of a person out of their minds on pain medication. There was a sincerity there that Childermass recognized as real and true. Despite the fact that Lascelles’ confession was unusually poetic, the dreamy look on his face wasn’t all due to the drugs coursing through his veins. He meant what he said, and the reality of that was taking some time to sink in. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t suspect that you could love me back, what with the way I’ve treated you, with the way I...I just <em> am </em> all the time, but I wanted you to know. For a while there, they thought I might not pull through, and it would have been a shame that the last things I said to you were insults, hurled at your back.” </p><p> </p><p>“Henry-”</p><p> </p><p>“John, please, let me finish,” Lascelles’ eyes grew determined and he coughed and winced again, and Childermass grew silent. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think there’s anything to be done about my feelings. They’re quite strong and incredibly unpleasant. This might be the first and only time I’ve ever actually been in love, and I feel miserable from it. All the stupid songs are making sense now and I<em> hate </em> it.” </p><p> </p><p>Childermass couldn’t help but smile at Lascelles’ sarcastic words. Romantic love <em> would </em>feel like an abhorrence to a man like Lascelles, a man so used to taking what he wanted and answering to no one. Being head over heels must be unsettling in the extreme. </p><p> </p><p>“I think about you all day and all night and I wish I could take some sort of pill to make it stop. Ironically, the pills they have me on now only make it worse,” he paused briefly for another soft chuckle before continuing. “I was attacked because of the things I said. I alway say such horrid things. It’s just the way I’m made.”</p><p> </p><p>“You could change…” Childermass didn’t want to interrupt but felt the words spill out of him anyway. “Everyone is capable of change.” </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think I am John. I don’t think I have that sort of skill.” Lascelles’ looked down for a moment and when he looked back up again, Childermass was shocked to see tears sparkling in his eyes. “I’m not built for softness or kindness John. I’d only keep hurting you, and you’d keep walking away and being pulled back. It won’t work. You need to find someone good and sweet and kind to be with. Those are qualities I apparently do not possess.” </p><p> </p><p>Childermass wanted to disagree with him, to say that maybe they could give it a real try, but he knew deep down that Lascelles was telling the truth. He was no more capable of being a loving, giving person than Childermass was capable of settling down with a wife and three kids in the suburbs. </p><p> </p><p>Lascelles lifted Childermass’ hand to his lips and kissed it, and as he did so, his eyes spilled over and tears fell down his cheeks. “I love you,” he said, dry lips brushing the back of Childermass’ hand as he spoke. “God help me, I tried not to, but I do.”</p><p> </p><p>“I love you, too,” Childermass said in response, and belatedly realized that it was true. He stood, leaned forward and pressed his lips to Lascelles’ in a soft kiss. He lingered there, just a bit longer than he normally would, and heard a helpless ghost of a noise from Lascelles before he pulled back again. </p><p> </p><p>There was nothing more to say, and so he slowly backed away from the bed, his eyes locked with Lascelles’. Their hands slowly pulled apart and Lascelles’ fell to rest in his lap when their fingers finally parted. </p><p> </p><p>Childermass turned and walked away, out of the room and back toward the lift, dismayed to discover that his own eyes had gone blurry with tears.</p>
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